Hunted
by Mudlark
Summary: Inspired by the China Mieville's "Perdido Street Station," I decided to try my hand at crafting a story about a husband and wife who struggle to uncover an alien presence in their city. Comments and criticisms are much appreciated. Updates WHENEVER.
1. Chapter 1

Officer Judy Wilde wakes to the impatient rattling of her husband's phone. Its vibrating tantrum wanders over the wooden surface of his nightstand until it collides with a glass of water, ringing violently against it. A fragile tune fills the room. Judy lets her eyes adjust to the darkness, squinting at the predatory glare of the analog clock that squats above the refrigerator. 1:34 AM. She decides whoever it is can wait. The rumbling dies after seven more repetitions. Judy turns over to face her partner before falling back asleep.

She admires the mathematical precision of his head, the way it seems to be built out of different geometries. She loves the conical ears that lay flat against his skull, and the isosceles snout that protrudes like a monument from his face. She likes the line of his lips, how they run parallel on either side of his mouth until they meet perfectly under his trapezoid nose. Judy thinks that if she measured these features, they would come out to be whole numbers—no decimal points, no fractions of a thousandth—just precise sizes. Even his eyes seem to carry pinpoint qualities when open, giving the impression that there is an analytical sharpness that calculates behind his pupils. Judy closes her eyes, listening to the sound of his breathing. It is a smooth transfer, soundless and calm.

The phone sitrs again, resuming its clinking against the glass. Judy watches his face for signs of consciousness. His eyes remain motionless, but it is the slight twitch of his ears that betrays him. _Lazy, orange son of a bitch_ , she thinks, _still trying to make me do your work?_ Judy paws at his sides with rude, tender force.

"Phone's ringing… Nick."

His head barely nods in slumbering acknowledgment. Judy persists.

"C'mon fox. Up. It'll go to voicemail again if you don't pick up."

Nick's eyebrows point in mock surprise, his lids still shut. His voice is groggy and soft.

"You've foiled me again, Officer Obvious. But, please, before you take me away, you must tell me how you discovered my master plan."

Her foot thumps against his thigh. She smiles.

"Asshole."

"Mhmm," he mutters.

"Chief'll have your pelt if that's him."

He points a limp finger towards her side of the bed where their radios stand in the dual charging station on her dresser, the antenna stiff and alert.

"Not on the radios, not important," he says, draping an arm over her hip. The vibrations continue, demanding attention. Judy is almost impressed with his lackadaisical commitment. She plays her trump card.

Judy takes his muzzle in her paws, kissing just below the nose. His whiskers flicker at the contact. His ears twitch, animated by the possibility of sex. She strokes the underside of his chin with her knuckles, tracing the hard lines of his jawbone, confirming his suspicions. The paw on her hip stalks down towards the line of her underwear, dipping just below the cloth barrier. Her cottonball tail jerks as his finger traverses the elastic band, tugging with gentle anticipation. Her ears slide over her back as they stand erect over her head. Nick's tail skates under the covers until it reaches her knees, skimming over her sensitive thighs. The smell of his arousal is crisp as he tilts his muzzle close to her ears. A knot of pleasure builds in her stomach.

"You should take these off."

She almost forgets why she did this in the first place.

"Yeah, I should. Right after you answer the phone."

Nick's eyes open to see a smug grin on his wife's face. Judy watches with satisfaction as he scans her in disbelief, desperate to find any sign that she's joking. They challenge one another in silence, their eyes communicating with hard defiance and aggressive arousal. He curses her, ranting as he reaches blindly behind him for the phone.

"You know who I think that is?" he asks. Judy grins at his feverish antics. She plays along.

"Who?"

" _That_ ," he says, "is probably one of the hundreds of mistresses I have hidden in Zootopia, calling to tell me that she's won the lottery, and that I should leave my beautiful, gorgeous, cock-teasing wife."

They are giggling by the end of it, delirious in the early hours of the morning. Nick finds the rattling device, swinging the screen in front of his face, prepared to jam his finger into the small red button. The display makes him stop. Three missed calls from Leonard, Nick's partner at the ZPD. There are texts as well.

 _Where are you?Pick up your radio_

 _Missed call from: Leonard S._

 _Missed call from: Leonard S._

 _Pick up your fucking radio_

 _Are you and J ok?_

 _Missed call from: Leonard S._

Judy watches Nick deflate, his wide grin compressing into a tight, anxious frown. His ears lurch back against his skull. The screen casts ghoulish light over his features, aging him under the harsh brightness. He taps the answer button as Leonard's picture comes up on the screen again, signaling for Judy to get dressed. She bolts from the bed towards her closet. The black panther on the other end sounds childish and afraid as he launches into a series of statements and questions.

"Jesus fuck, Nick. Are you guys alright? Where are you? Why haven't you been answering your fucking radio? Purrsia and I have been waiting for almost fifteen minutes. Please tell me you're on your way."

Nick digests his partner's questions. He turns towards the radio chargers, picking up one of the black boxes, hitting the PTT button. He is not treated to the usual bark of static. He drops it onto the sheets, dead. Scrambling over the bed, he reaches behind the nightstand for the power cord. It wiggles, loose in the socket. He curses as he flings himself off the bed, reassuring Leonard that he and Judy will be there in twenty minutes. Both rabbit and fox hurry through the darkness, thoughts of romance drowning in an ocean of panic and confusion.

Nick and Judy sit in silence as their old truck rumbles through the streets of Zootopia, its engine coughing and whining as the driver forces the grumpy machine to work. The tchotchke on the dashboard—a hippo with a jovial smile in a faded hula skirt—jitters wildly, flinging back and forth with the rough jerks of the truck. A long-dead air freshener dangles from the rearview mirror. A flurry of police cars passes, their lights and horns blaring into the darkness. The paranoid and the sleepless peek from behind their curtains. Nick glances at Judy as she texts Purrsia.

"Anything?" he asks.

She shakes her head, leaning against the window. Her words escape in a cloud of melancholy, fringing the glass with fogged sadness.

"All she says is 'Too much to explain. Get here asap.'"

Nick watches the road, somber and nervous as the headlights swallow up the greying asphalt. He fiddles with the radio dials again, a futile attempt—it's been broken for months. The lack of chatter makes them fidget. It takes them fifteen minutes to get to the station in the dead of night.

The station is alive with officers filing in and out of the doors, some dressed in heavy, chitinous combat gear while others are only in basic blue uniforms. Nick parks the truck in its reserved spot, and the machine turns off with a grateful cough. They rush from the vehicle into the cold night, past officers who greet the late couple with curt nods, past the gleaming double doors to Clawhauser's desk, where the heavyset cheetah barely takes the time to nod in the direction of the meeting room as he listens to the phone. His eyes are red and glassy. His usual, buoyant cheeks sag with exhaustion. The coffee cup on his desk is full and cold. The pair dash towards the lockers, dressing with panicked haste. Meeting back outside, they catch each other's eyes before they enter "The Den." Chief Bogo's baritone voice reverberates through the door. Quick "I love you's" are exchanged as they push inside.

Purrsia and Leonard aren't the only officers in the meeting room, but they are the most noticeable. Leonard leans massively against the wall, going through his regular routine of nervous habits. The black panther flickers like a humongous, agitated shadow, running his claws over his head, lashing his tail in skittish, serpentine patterns. His claws scrape and tick against the white tile floor as he taps his footpaws, impatient and uptight. The deep blue of his uniform melds with indiscriminate smoothness into his sleek, midnight fur. Gear clings to his bulk, childish compared to his mass. The rookie compresses his head between his knuckles, squeezing his pale eyes shut under the relaxing pressure.

Purrsia stands in stark opposition to Leonard. Her wide face stares at the floor with blank concentration—blue eyes unblinking. The snow leopard's spotted alabaster coat juts from every available crevice in her uniform, concealing her taut, powerful muscles in deceiving fluff. Utterly still, her tail hangs between the columns of her legs like a hanged body.

Hulking over the wooden podium, the chief of police grips the minuscule stand with pronged, bovine fingers, tapping the stand with disciplined anxiety. Standing over eight feet tall, the stern water buffalo dwarfs all other presences. His horns branch out from the side of his head with commanding austerity, intimidating in their curvaceousness. Glinting in the light, his glasses balance over his bouldered snout as he finishes his briefing the remaining officers. The room echoes with his bravado, the baritone words commanding every square inch of "The Den."

"-and there _will_ be people who are panicked and scared. As an officer it's your job not to lose your composure when you get swarmed by a hundred different species asking questions. The last thing these people need to see is the protectors of their city cracking under pressure. If you see instigators, pull them aside to confront them, and if that doesn't work—," Chief Bogo glowers from under his eyebrows, "—take them down."

A few ears and tails in the rows of officers flinch.

"Dismissed."

Officers file out of the rows, hustling out the doors towards squad cars and motorcycles. The chief heaves a sigh once the last uniform departs, the black pits of his nostrils flaring wide. His entire form sags as he steps from behind the podium, his short tail slapping against the back of his thighs like a dead limb. He signals for Nick and Judy, who are talking with their partners, too tired to care that they are late.

"Officer Hopps, Officer Wilde, glad you could make it to this shitshow."

Judy and Nick salute before sitting, training their eyes on the water buffalo. Bogo gestures towards Purrsia and Leonard.

"Your partners have been informed of the situation, and will give you the full rundown on your way out to patrol, but there's something that I'd like to ask of you four while I have you in private."

Bogo lifts his head to scan the doors before lowering himself down to an acceptable level, stabbing his trident fingers into the table. His attempt at a whisper still reverberates through Nick and Judy's large ears.

"Starting at 12:09 this morning, each of Zootopia's districts began to lose power, starting with the blizzard fans in Tundratown. By 12:50, all twelve sectors _shut down_ completely except for the metropolis area. The only places supplied with running electricity directly outside the city are hospitals and anything else that has a backup generator. As of now, we've blamed it on a massive malfunction in the grid system, but the engineers who initially reported the incident said that the power was more so _drained_ rather than shut off—siphoned off to somewhere that's not on the grid map."

Leonard's neck flexes as his head shakes with alarm. The rest of them sit still, silence blooming among the group. Bogo continues.

"Which is why we don't think that it's a terrorist attack. You four, along with Howllen and Rexly are the only ones who know about this—the only ones I can trust _right now_. Both your teams will be sent to patrol the metropolis to keep the people there under control—their safety is our main concern for tonight. But I want you to keep your eyes peeled. Wherever the power's gone, it's most likely ended up somewhere in the metropolis, seeing that it's the only part of Zootopia that has power. If you see anything suspicious call it in, and don't go in alone."

Leonard struggles to form words.

"Chief, I-, don't you think-don't these people deserve to know what's going on?"

Bogo cuts the rookie off before he can go further, holding up a segmented hoof.

"Yes, they _do_ deserve to know, but not now. The amount of panic that would cause—the ZPD wouldn't be able to contain it. It would be disastrous."

Bogo eyes the four, cementing his words before giving the final orders.

"Nick and Leonard, you'll be heading north by The Spire. Judy and Purrsia, you two are stationed south of the Bamboo Quarter. Tonight, you are my eyes and ears. Good luck, officers."

* * *

 **AN: I do not own any of these character's and I never will. I hope you guys enjoyed the first real chapter of "Hunted." Any chapter that I put up here may be edited at any time, as I do not have a beta reader to bounce ideas off of or skim it for errors. This will probably get longer at some point, and I hope to make longer updates in the future.**


	2. Chapter 2

Nick watches his partner and remembers.

 _9 months ago_

 _Fox and rabbit sit in Bogo's office, eyeing worriedly at each other as the chief examines two sheets of paper. The office is dim, and the image does not bleed through the other side of the pages. A dissatisfied electrical tune buzzes throughout the room. Bogo's daughter smiles through a picture frame from his desk—one of the few decorations in the otherwise spartan office. Snorting, the chief adjusts his glasses before pinning the papers to the table under his hooves._

" _I need your help."_

 _A pause stumbles into the room. The words linger in the air. Chief does not 'ask for help'. Assignments and tasks are always handed out with "I need you to look into something," or "This is your new case." Never has the chief used those four words in order. The water buffalo powers through the silence._

" _As I'm sure you're aware, the ZPD has accepted a variety of smaller predator and prey over the past year and a half. While this has proven effective in interspecies communications with citizens, it has created a gap in the department. The veterans feel alienated by the new recruits. They've separated themselves from the rookies based on size_ _and species_."

 _Bogo lets his words sink in._

" _And_ that _," he says, "is something I cannot allow. I can't expect my officers to work as a team if they don't know who's sitting across from them in the mess hall."_

 _The couple nods slowly. Nick is the first to respond._

" _How can we help, chief?"_

 _Chief's left ear dips—an involuntary and rare sign of discomfort._

 _"I've decided to take it upon myself to pair up officers—no more solo shifts. I'll also be rearranging the existing teams, including yours."_

 _Their outcry is synchronized, but Judy's is louder._

 _"Chief, that'll cut the force in half! There has to be another way—"_

 _Bogo leans over the desk, cutting the rabbit off with a glare._

 _"I trust that you know I didn't take this decision lightly. Combined, you make one of the most effective teams I've seen in a long time, but it's come to my attention that there are others who can benefit from partnering with you as well as the more experienced officers on the force. We need to start pairing the larger predator and prey species with smaller partners. Starting this spring, I will be making two person patrols mandatory until I can see a difference in the ZPD. I don't expect this to take long—less than a year—but I need the force to work with itself, not against._

 _An apologetic tone forces itself out of his mouth._

 _"I know what I'm asking you to sacrifice by splitting up like this. You two are the first I've discussed this with."_

 _Nick and Judy nod, working through the chief's reasoning. They don't like the idea of being separated, and the thought of severing their two-year partnership weighs heavily on the front of their minds. They look at each other, their communication silent and brief. Nick faces the chief, nodding._

" _We're in, chief. What do you have for us?"_

 _Bogo taps the papers on the desk._

" _These are your new partners."_

Nick is drawn out of his memory by the soft patter of rain. Drops tick on the windshield like impatient fingernails. Nick turns the windshield wipers on, cringing as they make a screeching swipe over the glass. Leonard doesn't seem to notice as he runs a claw over his thigh, picking at loose threads. He stares out the window as lights cast pacing and worried shadows over the street. Something is bothering him.

"What's on your mind, kid? You called your parents yet?" asks Nick.

Leonard keeps his attention glued to the window.

"Yeah, yeah. They're fine. It's a little strange for them to without mist in the Rainforest District, but yeah, they're good."

 _Something else on his mind,_ thinks Nick as the panther runs a claw down dashboard until it hooks on the glove department. His claws slowly retract back into his paw.

"Nick, you think the Albino's got anything to do with this? I mean, he's probably out there right now _enjoying_ this—fucking psychopath."

Leonard turns to Nick after a moment's silence, gnawing at his lip when he sees his partner's reaction to the taboo subject.

"Sorry, sorry." he mumbles.

Rain begins to pick up, smashing against the windshield. Sheets of water smatter the heavy vehicle as is rumbles down the street. Nick watches as drops creep down the glass, cannibalizing each other as they snake towards the bottom of the windshield.

"Just eat what's on your plate, alright? He's not our problem tonight."

Before Leonard can answer, their radio spits a muffled order for police presence requested at the corner of Tooth and Claw. Nick flicks the siren lights on as Leonard confirms their departure over the radio. The car speeds into the night, painting the sides of buildings red and blue as it hums over the asphalt, uncertain and alone.

Their route takes them near the northern border where the Rainforest District's vines and branches peek above the massive concrete wall separating the ecosystem from the city. Birds squawk loudly from the treetops. Moss and leaves force their way through cracks, threading organic veins over the hard surface of the wall. Water runs down in streams as rain continues to pour. Leonard stares at the structure, thinking of his parents.

Rows of high-rise apartments line the streets opposite of the wall, their stern architecture seeming to stand guard against the encroaching foliage. Nick spots the bright red lights of an ambulance as they round the corner. Two paramedics—a young otter and a ram—flank and old sheep who is sitting in the back of the ambulance. Small tribes of people are gathered at the entrances of their buildings, conversing in whispers as rain smashes into the pavement. Their attention turns to the squad car as it rolls up. Exiting the car, Nick and Leonard approach the ambulance.

The otter pads over to the pair while the ram shines a flashlight over the wide pupils of the old sheep. Nick catches the glimmer of the otter's nametag. _Richard._ His face is attentive, but his body seems to drag behind his head as he waddles through the downpour. His brown fur clings to his head and arms, soaked into a sleek coat by the rain. Up close, Nick sees the toll the night has taken on the young otter. He looks young, twenty-three at most.

Richard snaps off his latex gloves before shaking Nick and Leonard's paws. His voice is unusually hard for an otter—authoritative.

"Thank you for coming, officers. We could really use your help right now," he says.

Leonard kneels, hunching over on one knee to match Richard's height. His ears perk and stop twitching. He rests a paw over his knee and one on the ground—a strange cross between a sprinter setting up at the starting block and a knight ready to be sired. Nick chuckles inwardly.

Leonard's main strength on his rookie information sheet was interspecies communication—and he shows it. Nick sometimes finds himself envious of how the panther can compress his body to talk to the smallest rodent, or expand his presence in the company of bears and hippos while remaining comfortable.

"That's what we're here for, sir. What do you need us to do?"

Even in the red wash of the ambulance lights, Nick swears he can see the otter blush at the word 'sir'. Richard coughs and turns his head towards the people sitting in the stairways.

"Someone called in when they heard the old man banging around in his apartment—said they thought he was having a heart attack or stroke. Turns out he was having a panic attack. Something spooked him pretty bad, and right now he's too riled up to talk, so we have no idea what happened. Otherwise, he seems fine.

"But these people," he says, gesturing with a webbed paw, "these people are just as scared as he is. All any of us have heard about this is that there's been some sort of electrical failure. They need to hear from someone with a badge."

Leonard and Nick nod, water shaking loose from their fur. Nick looks down at the otter.

"Do you think I could try and talk with the old man? See if I can make sense of what he's saying."

The otter shrugs.

"I don't see why not. Just don't push him too hard. I'm going to look around and see if these people need check-ups. Thank you again, officers."

Richard waddles through the rain towards the ambulance, where he picks up another set of gloves before heading to a group of weasels. Nick signals for Leonard to follow Richard's lead. He doesn't need to remind him of chief's orders.

Nick sighs, shaking a drop of water off his nose as he walks over to the ram. Her wool is steel gray, bursting from her frame in soft curls. Small, rigid horns jut from her skull. Air hisses as she squeezes a blood pressure cuff around the old sheep's arm. She doesn't seem to notice as he stands beside her. Nick introduces himself.

"Officer Wilde, ma'am. I was hoping to ask this gentleman a few questions if it's possible."

The ram continues through her mandatory list of check-ups. She takes the sheep's hooves, spreading his arms and rotating them in small circles. Nick watches as the old sheep's oblong eyes wander aimlessly over the interior of the ambulance as his head rocks back and forth. Yellow, rotting teeth look ready to fall out of his mouth as it opens and closes in soundless words. Nick finds himself avoiding eye contact. _Jesus,_ he thinks _, what happened to this poor bastard?_ The ram clicks her hooves together in front of the sheep's face. He continues to stare into space as she makes a second, more aggressive series of clicks. The ram shakes her head. Nick tries again, this time placing a paw on her shoulder. She shuffles away from him. Her voice reminds him of Judy's mother.

"Officer _Wilde_ , who told you that this man is in any condition to be questioned?"

Nick points to where he thinks Richard went.

"The other paramedic, Richard."

The ram scoffs, glaring in the direction Nick pointed.

"That boy. Sometimes I swear…" she says, trailing off.

A radio call sounds from the front of the ambulance, requesting paramedics for a minor injury. The ram looks at her patient, and then back at the radio. She glances at Nick.

"I have to take that. You're trained in basic first aid, correct?" she asks.

Nick nods as he takes steps further into the vehicle to sit beside the old sheep.

"Make sure his head doesn't tilt back too far, and keep an eye on his breathing patterns. Otherwise, he should be fine. Holler if anything changes—this shouldn't take long."

Nick waits beside the old man as the nurse clambers to the front of the ambulance. He finds the way the old sheep sways and rocks unnerving. Nick coughs as he catches a whiff of the old man. He smells terrible.

"I _told_ mamma when sister was gonna get sick."

The voice is so quiet that it takes Nick a second to realize the old man is talking.

"I said, when we were on the farm- _I said_ to her, 'Sis' is gonna catch it _bad_ out there.'"

Nick's jaw slackens. Just as he regains enough sense to call for the nurse, the man latches one of his hooves onto Nick's wrist. The grip is feeble, but it is enough to give him pause. Nick shivers as the old sheep's stretched pupils bore holes into him.

"Same happened with brother, too. Told 'em the little ones would get 'em. And _you know what?_ " says the old sheep, drawing him close. Grease stains and holes pepper the sheep's clothing. His breath is rancid—it reeks of rotten vegetables.

" _I was right,_ " the sheep whispers, his tone vindicating.

Nick realizes that he's breathing hard.

"Sir, how long have you been living by yourself?" He asks, but the old sheep keeps going.

"Found him in the cornfields, tongue swollen so big you couldn't get a finger past his lips. _Bees,_ the goddamn winged devils. Ma and pa took me a _li-ttle_ more seriously after that. Even said I had a sense for _misfortune._ And let me tell you, young man, there's somethin' comin' like I never seen before. Somethin' _bad_."

The old sheep goes back to lolling his head around, staring blankly at the roof of the ambulance. Nick hears the clop of hooved feet as the ram scoots back into place beside the old man. She looks at Nick, and asks what's wrong.

"He talked," Nick replies. The ram raises her eyebrows.

"Did he say anything important? Was he coherent?" she asks.

Nick watches the old man twist and turn lazily in his seat like a child.

"No," he says, against his gut, "nothing important."

AN: Thanks for reading the second chapter of this. I'm excited to see this actually going somewhere, seeing that I had no plan after writing the first chapter. I'm going to try and update on Sunday's now because I've realized that I need a schedule if I actually want to get anything done. This update is still unedited, so I'll be going back to change a couple of things later in this chapter and the first.


	3. Chapter 3

Red lanterns jerk and swing over the streets of Bamboo Quarter, their glowing innards flickering defiantly against the storm. Rain batters the colonies of superstitious decorations that hang from houses and shops, tearing down signs of good fortune and prosperity to leave them soaking in the gutters alongside cigarette butts and wrappers. Shoots of bamboo line the curving streets, waving in the howling wind as crickets chirp under thick, damp mud. Storefronts guarded by rusted barricades shun the few who pass by in the early hours of the morning. _WE are CLOSED._ An old panda looking out her window swipes a paw over her heart, pushing it away afterwards—a sign to ward off evil.

Purrsia lets the squad car crawl over the asphalt like a hungry beast, scanning the streets with ferocious intensity. Her head swivels like a spotlight, precise and focused. Quietly, her breaths slip between her lips, even and controlled. She grips the steering wheel with anticipation.

Slouching in the passenger seat, Judy watches as cheap, faded signs inch by as she leans her head against the glass, ears twitching in bored intervals. _Wu Yan's Walk in Wok. Da Shen Jade and Jewelry Trade. Lung Family Market. Ao Jian Footpaw Massage—All species accepted! Authentic Antique Blades and Weapons._ Unlike her feline partner, her eyes do not adjust to the darkness that curtains alleyways and slips between the bamboo stalks. Limited to flickering neon signs, street lamps, and stoplights, she finds herself staring into an empty landscape. The citizens of Bamboo Quarter either don't know or don't care about the blackout surrounding the metropolis. Glancing at the speedometer, she sees the red needle barely passing above the ten-mile mark.

"Speed it up, Kuldreski. We're looking for people who need help, not criminals."

No response.

Judy pinches the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut against the sting of sleeplessness and frustration. _God dammit_ , she thinks _, work with me for once, just for tonight, please._ Leaning closer, she claps her paws together in a muffled slap.

" _Kuldreski_ ," she says, harsher this time.

Purrsia snaps out of her trance, blinking once. A tight frown stitches over her lips as she gives Judy a sideways glance—wordless acknowledgement. Frustration coils in Judy's gut, snaking around her insides, and she has to bite her lip to keep from lashing out. _You are a child,_ she thinks, _a child in an officer's uniform._ When Judy first received Purrsia's file from Bogo, she had been confused. The rookie's profile was filled with marks of excellence. Tranquilizer shot score: 90, paw to paw combat: surpasses average, tactile thinking: above average, TUSK; highly recommended—a checklist of near perfection—until she reached the bottom.

 _Struggles to collaborate._

Roused from her trance, Purrsia accelerates, the engine vibrating with new life as the car rumbles down the street.

Their patrol takes them by the Yin Han fishery—a narrow warehouse that cramps itself between the other buildings that crowd the wharf. Judy scrunches her face as the overpowering stench of leftover seafood invades the squad car. On Saturday mornings, the wharf transforms into an open market filled with stinking, wriggling specimens—their prices shouted aggressively at the people browsing the various fish, crab, squid and shrimp. But tonight the wharf is vacant, the metal skeletons of stands and tents sitting quietly next to each other as rain falls through their hollow structures.

Judy finds herself reminiscing on a date Nick had taken her on in the wharf when they had just started dating. Chuckling softly, she remembers how embarrassed he was when they found out the smell of seafood made her nauseous. He had apologized profusely as he held back her ears while she vomited in the restaurant's bathroom. They ended up ordering from a food truck on the corner before driving back to her apartment.

Vibrations pull her from the memory. Reaching for her belt, Judy unzips a pocket containing a burner phone, staring at the display. _1 message from: Grandpa V._ She taps the message app.

 _Grandpa: Family dinner in an hour. Fish and broccoli. All your relatives coming and want to see you._

Judy rushes out a text.

 _You: A little busy tonight, but fish and broccoli sounds good. How bad do they want to see me?_

 _Grandpa: Very bad. Uncle John is coming. Heard he has a new girlfriend. He'd be disappointed if you couldn't make it._

Judy breathes out. _Shit._

 _You: I'll come, but you have to remind me what your new address is. Where's a good place to park?_

 _Grandpa: 228 Kelpsi Drive, and anywhere's fine, just leave space for the roofer._

 _You: On my way. Love you grandpa._

 _Grandpa: Love you too._

Judy clicks the screen off before putting the cellphone back into its pocket before turning to Purrsia.

"Plan's changed. My contact told me there's a meeting tonight. Reconnaissance, not a sit 'n watch. You think you can handle that?" She asks.

Purrsia nods. Judy holds her gaze.

"Good. But you need to do _what_ I say _when_ I say it. Got it?"

Purrsia nods again, but Judy shakes her head.  
"I need words, Kuldreski. Promise me."

Agitation breaks through her stony demeanor as her face scrunches and twists with annoyance. Her lips stretch over her gums, revealing the sharp, white fangs that hang in her mouth like vicious stalactites. They duly reflect the multi-colored dashboard.

" _Yes,_ officer Hopps, I got it" she growls.

Judy nods as she brings up the GPS on her phone, typing in the directions to the meeting.

It turns out that Kelpsi Drive is only fifteen minutes off their regular patrol route. The GPS leads them to a massive warehouse at the end of the wharf, next to the docks that import fish and other seafood. Purrsia pulls the squad car into an alleyway two blocks from the warehouse. The pair exit the vehicle, grabbing their gear. Two tranquilizer guns, four tranquilizer darts and one elephant dart each, binoculars, flashlights, and twenty feet of sleek black rope. They slink through the shadows of crumbling back alleys until they reach the fence that surrounds the docks. It rattles with disapproval as the pair climbs over. Purrsia shakes her head, flicking water off her coat. Her fur is matted to her frame, outlining the muscles that run underneath her skin.

Judy checks her phone. 2:37 am. They have twenty minutes to find a vantage point.

The docks are dark and wet. Colossal ships lull gently as waves slap against their rusting, barnacle-caked hulls. Algae soaked ropes tug as the boats rock in the black waters. Pools of rain flash as streetlights flicker weakly. The smell of brine, gull shit, and rotting kelp saturates the place, and Judy has to concentrate to keep herself from vomiting.

They make their way to the edge of the warehouse. It is a grey, dying building. Cracked cement winds along walls of the structure. Ivy crawls over the windows, leaves shivering in the wind and rain. Shards of broken glass crowd around the edges. Judy surveys the area, looking for a vantage point. _Just leave space for the roofer._ Their entrance would be up high, but how would they get there?

Signaling for Purrsia, they stride towards the back of the building where they find an old, rusted ladder lying broken on the cement, it's rungs chewed by years of harsh weather. Purrsia steps experimentally on one of the few intact bars, easily breaking the handhold. Clicking on her flashlight, Judy shines the beam up to wear the ladder used to be connected. Near the top of the wall, she finds that a quarter of the original ladder still remains attached to the side of the building—about fifteen feet up—enough to get them on if they are able to reach it. _This can work,_ she thinks.

Kneeling, Judy ties one end of the rope around her ankle, letting the rest of it trail behind her like an elongated fuse. She swings her leg, pleased to find that the rope doesn't impede her movement.

"Kuldreski, I need you to boost me," she says, stepping back a few yards.

The snow leopard pauses, staring at the gap between the ground and the ladder, doubtful.

"You sure? I won't be able to catch you if you fall from that high."

Judy shakes her head.

"You won't have to worry about that if you get me high enough."

Another flash of annoyance plays across Purrsia's face. Scowling, she turns to squat against the wall underneath the ladder, cupping her paws and hanging them between her thighs. She grunts in affirmation. Bouncing twice, Judy launches herself at Purrsia, measuring her steps. The snow leopard tenses as Judy makes her approach. Judy's foot connects with Purrsia's paw, and the snow leopard throws her up with every bit of her strength. Judy vaults upwards, kicking off her partner's paws, rope trailing behind her. The momentum is enough to carry her to the second rung. The rusted ladder groans with sharp displeasure as the rabbit clings to it, wobbling under her weight. Judy doesn't pause as she scampers up the remaining rungs, clambering over the top. Purrsia calls from below.

"Good?"

Leaning over the roof, Judy gives a thumbs up.  
"Good. Just need to find something to secure the rope."

The roof is a pitiful landscape. Layers of cheap stucco rest in uneven valleys and hills over the surface, grating roughly against her feet. Holes big and small pepper the roof, only a scant few covered up with soaked cardboard and duct tape or loose sheets of tin. Water flows freely into the open holes, cascading down in slapping collisions on the warehouse floor. Surveying the area, she spots a row of steel chimneys, but they're too far away to be of any use.

Car brakes screech on the other side of the building, and panic ricochets in her chest as she leans over the side to see headlights cutting through the rain. _No! We're supposed to have at least ten more minutes!_ Doors open and slam shut. Rain patters against open umbrellas.

She scans the roof again, desperately searching for something more solid, but finds nothing. Voices echo from the side of the building. Rushing back to the ladder, Judy unties the rope from around her ankle, attaching it to one of the rungs in a sloppy knot before flicking the rest over. Gripping the arching bars, she lines her feet against the lip of the roof, pulling in hopes to keep some of the big cat's weight off.

 _Please let this work._

Purrsia grasps the rope and begins to climb, wrapping it around her paw as she ascends.

This time, the ladder shrieks in metallic agony, pulling Judy forward as Purrsia's full weight settles on the rope. The sound pierces her ears, and she curses as the ladder slips further out of her grasp, the rain making the metal slick. Flakes of rust chip, cutting through the soft fur and skin of her paws. Hot pain rips into her palms. Old bolts creak, threatening to burst from their positions. The ladder shakes, clanging against the side of the building. She presses her legs harder, arching her back to gain leverage. Her muscles tremble. _Come on, come on. Get your ass up here Kuldreski._ Slow, screeching seconds go by.

Judy spots the snow leopard's paw as it rises over the edge, grasping the ledge as she pulls herself up, collapsing onto the stucco roofing. The ladder rattles one last time before settling against the building. Judy releases the metal handhold, cradling her paws against her stomach. Blood and rust mix with rainwater, dyeing her fur a deep, charred brown. She cups her palms, flinching as another stab of pain races through her paws. Purrsia unties the knot, slipping the rest of the rope over her shoulder as she crouches low against the ledge. A pair of clopping hooves makes their way around the corner. Her thoughts are a streamline of panic.

 _Please don't send anyone up here oh god please just walk away you assholes oh god oh shit no no nononono—_

Judy's heart almost stops as a shaft of light flares skywards, casting the shadow of a pointing hoof. One of the voices calls from below—deep and annoyed—a buffalo, probably.

"What'd I tell you? That thing's a fuckin' menace. Nearly killed Vinnie when the bottom half broke off last week. Thing sounds like it's 'bout to give way."

There's a chuckle and a higher pitched cackle—a hyena, female.

"Shit, you try and knock it down?" the hyena asks.

"Actually, Vinnie took his daughter's softball gear and tried to bat it loose—looked like a fuckin' idiot, too," he says, chuckling again, "standing outside with a tiny pink bat and a couple of softballs, cursin' up a storm. God damn, he was _pissed_."

The pair shares another round of laughter before continuing their way around the rest of the building. Judy exhales with relief.

Standing slowly, she signals for Purrsia to follow her across the roof. The big cat pads quietly over the stucco, making sure to avoid small gaps. Judy leads her to the cardboard covered hole that sits over the middle of the roof. Crouching, she taps the soaked cardboard gently, mouthing the word "pinhole" to her partner. Purrsia extends a claw, digging it into the soft material until it breaks on the other side. She wriggles her finger, making a dime-sized slot before retracting her claw. Judy peers into the room from her new vantage point.

The warehouse is surprisingly devoid of crates and barrels, housing mainly chairs and tables that are scattered across the room. Light stands glare accusingly at the people who walk in. Species of all kinds file through the huge double doors. Zebras, jaguars, bison, rats, lions, rabbits, hippos—more species than Judy can count—all dressed in lavish clothing. Disgust and disapproval plays over the crowd as they enter the dank space, some cursing as they step in puddles of muck or feel a drop of water burst over their head. An otter gathers a pawful of water before splashing it over his face while the lioness next to him wrinkles her nose in disgust. As far as Judy can tell, most of them are henchmen—goons waiting until their bosses arrive.

Judy sits back, letting the rain pelt her face as she stares at the clouds.

 _Two can play at that game,_ she thinks.

* * *

AN: Thanks for reading this chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

Judy is relieved when she sees the stars. She'd calmed down considerably since the ladder fiasco, and takes the chance to watch the night sky twinkle overhead. It reminds her of being on her family's farm. Catching a break from the rain, she takes the opportunity to wring out her ears, wincing as she grips them with torn paws. She exhales in satisfaction at the gush of water as it dribbles onto the roof, joining the depleting puddles that drip into the warehouse of criminals and gang members.

If Judy had walked by the building now, she might have thought it to be an ill-placed social event. They talk about menial things—openings of new bars, obnoxious neighbors, little league soccer. Jovial howls and laughter echo through the room as more species arrive. The smell of chicken wings, pizza, and beer wafts into the air, seeping through the holes of the roof. Purrsia looks on in stark confusion as a rabbit hops across the room carrying two wolf-portioned bags of flaked seaweed, setting them down on a snack table.

"Aren't these people worried about the blackout?" Purrsia whispers.

Judy is surprised by her question. Patrols with the snow leopard are always filled with silence and rejected attempts to dig deeper into her personality. Purrsia usually speaks in nods, grunts and pointed fingers that infuriate the rabbit with their childishness. Satisfaction and hope glimmers inside her at the snow leopard's curiosity.

"People don't fuck with family members of mobs or gangs, especially during something like this—pretty much considered taboo in criminal etiquette to take advantage of people in widespread panic.

"You remember when Duke Cromwel's wife was murdered?" she asks, voice low.

Purrsia nods, thinking back to when she was a cub. She'd heard about the murder over the television, too young to understand the importance.

"There was an arsonist in Little Rodentia at the time. His name was Alistair Norman. He was young—seventeen—and what the psychologists liked to call an "ambitious lighter." He liked to make fires. Big ones, two or three at a time. But he was smart about it—went to out of the way places. Abandoned buildings and warehouses, mainly. Turns out that some of the warehouses he burned weren't as abandoned as he thought."

Memories of news clips flash in Purrsia's mind. Bird's eye views of burning buildings, smoke curling off in tiny, threatening puffs as rodent firefighters sprayed water with teardrop sized hoses. She remembers her parent's reaction to what was found inside after the flames had be extinguished. Judy continues.

"Drugs, black market goods, weapons—a lot of things that people didn't expect the head of 'ArchDuke's Toys and Games' to be holding. But that wasn't it.

"While Duke was out 'taking care of business,' a couple of weasels from Southside Claw thought it would be a good time to express their displeasure with the drug taxes Duke enforced in their area. They broke into his house—smashed it with sledgehammers. Smashed his wife, too."

Judy flips onto her stomach, peering through the pinhole, mumbling into the soaked cardboard.

"The leader of Southside Claw and his crew were excommunicated from council meetings until they turned in the two weasels. It took three days to find them. Their bodies were found in the Nocturnal Pits, along with Alistair Norman. The leader of Southside Claw had to pay a massive fine to Duke that was settled by the council. He had no say in the matter, and even after the fine was paid he and his group were shunned until they dismantled two years later. That's why people don't stir up trouble."

The snow leopard contemplates, her ears swiveling at the words that filter into the rafters.

"So most of the people down there 'get along' pretty well?" she asks, and Judy snorts.

"Hell no." she answers.

Judy scoots away from the eyehole, motioning for Purrsia to look inside. The snow leopard crouches over, laying on her side as she peers into the warehouse.

"Look in the right paw corner. See the otters?"

Purrsia nods, spotting a gang of tough looking sea and river otters who seem to be quarantined into the corner of the room. With their arms crossed and frowns covering their furry faces, Purrsia thinks they look more like shunned children rather than hardened gang members. They mutter among each other, refusing to acknowledge the other gangs.

"Those are the SkwidBoyz. They don't have a lot of members, but their boss controls most of the ships that pass through the River Complex. Two weeks ago, he tried to put a higher tax on goods that the other gangs were using his boats to transport through the river. A few gangs tried to muscle their way through—said that they didn't think they should have to pay that much to 'use a couple of glorified motorboats.' SkwidBoyz didn't take that too well, and now they have an embargo in place until the other gangs pay up."

Purrsia nods, soaking in the politics that crowds the room alongside the gangsters. She begins to see how it moves them, communicates through them, _controls_ them—an invisible presence that fills their lungs, runs through their bloodstreams, deposits in their brains, and slips from their lips. She sees their mannerisms—tail flicks, ear swivels that aren't what they seem to be. Conspiratorial whispers that hide behind protective paws.

"So," Purrsia says, "what are their bosses doing while they're all here?"

Judy waves her paw, gesturing towards all of Zootopia.

"They're sitting at home, waiting for their goons to call in and say it's safe."

Purssia raises an eyebrow.

"But they've been down there for almost an hour."

Judy nods.

"Nothing makes a mob boss or gang leader happier when your crew is taking 'extra precautions' before you arrive—most of the higher-ups are pretty paranoid, but the guys down there? They just want to have a little fun before things get serious again."

A comfortable pause settle between the two.

"So," Purrsia says, "back to waiting?"

It takes another hour for the first one to show up. Two muscled felines in black prowl past the double doors, scanning the crowd before nodding behind them. A hush falls over the room as a young, thin lion enters. He is short for his species. His suit shifts loosely on his frame as he gangles over the wet floor, briefcase swinging heavily at his side. His mane is slicked back, amplifying the wideness of his forehead. Flinching at the lights, he raises a paw to shield his eyes, accidentally knocking off his glasses. Bobbling, he lets out a strangled cry as they tumble to the floor with a delicate crash. Judy almost feels bad for the lanky cub as his tail spazzes, coiling and uncoiling like a nervous snake when he bends to retrieve his glasses. The lion rushes to one of the seats at the series of tables in the center of the room. Purssia guffaws as the dorkish young man. It's laughable. The kid can't be older than seventeen.

"What's junior doing here?" she asks.

Judy motions for Purrsia to keep her voice down.

"Learning." she whispers.

Before Purrsia can question, a massive presence enters the room. A lion, larger than Purrsia's ever seen, stalks past the warehouse doors.

" _Jesus,"_ breathes Purrsia.

Ronald Oleus Rockwell is an ocean of ruthless muscles. Tides of sinew ebb and flow underneath the deep blue of his suit. Raw power rolls through in him in rogue waves, clashing against the shores of his neck and shoulders. His mane bursts from his head like a sinister sun. Confident and calm, he strolls through the crowd until he stands in the center like a gladiator. A guttural growl rumbles through the room as he takes a seat next to his son, who focuses intensely on the briefcase in front of him. It is both pitiful and intimidating. Ronald Jr. cowers under the intruding presence of his father and the crowd around him. He flicks his paws over the metal clips on the briefcase, pulling out the contents. A note pad and a pen. He scribbles uncomfortably on the paper.

"Why is Ronald senior giving his son the cold shoulder?" asks Purrsia.

"For the past two months, Ronald senior's been including his son in the weekly meetings—getting his paws wet. He wants to start while he's young, just like his dad did to him. Jr.'s smart, but he needs to learn how to keep his composure among the other gang leaders. They treat him as a separate entity from his father even though they both represent ROR. You'll see later tonight."

The rest of the leaders come quickly after Ron and his son, followed by their bodyguards. Men and women with cruel and radical forms of protection. Rhinos that wield steel pipes and brass knuckles, wolves with razor sharp teeth guards that glint in the light when they talk, mice that hide in a coat pocket with needles dipped in vicious neurological poisons—endless varieties of lethality. Pleasantries are exchanged strictly by mouth.

Judy eyes a particular polar bear as he lumbers through the crowd, sitting between a warthog and a gazelle who shift their chairs to accommodate for his mass. His seat groans under his weight. The polar bear turns his head towards the ceiling, and even though Judy is certain that he cannot see her, she nods from behind the cardboard cover. _I see you, Victor_ , she thinks, _good luck._

Surveying the room, Judy looks for new faces, remembering Victor's message. _Uncle John's new girlfriend._ Whoever it was, they would be female—but Judy recognizes all of the people in the crowd. She pulls out the burner phone again, sending Victor a text.

 _You: New girlfriend not coming?_

She watches Victor calmly pull out his phone amidst the roaming gang members.

 _Grandpa: Don't know, thought she would be here tonight._

 _You: Do the other family members know about her?_

 _Grandpa: No._

Judy frowns, and before she cans send another text, an old grey wolf with a gnarled muzzle stands, and the warehouse is reduced to mumbles and whispers. He sweeps the crowd, his snout pointing like a deformed, accusatory arrow. He waits until the room is silent, then smiles.

"First of all, I would like to welcome you all to my humble abode."

Most of the laughter is out of respect.

"And secondly," he says, turning towards Judy's informant, "how is the health of our _beloved_ Mr. Bigs?"

Judy holds her breath as he prepares to lie. Victor shakes his head, hanging a deep frown from his face. He rumbles his reply.

"He is… stable at the moment."

Many of the older mammals tilt their heads down in sadness while the younger ones remain level. The wolf allows for the silence to continue for a few seconds before clapping his paws together.

"Let's get started then, shall we? First order of business comes from the Rainforest District, I believe."

A zebra nods, taking his chance to stand, tapping his hoof against the table. He speaks in code.

"Recently, I've come across a nasty weed problem that's been running rampant in my garden. At first it was just a few little ones, but it turns out that the roots run deeper than I thought _._ Needless to say, the first gardeners that I hired weren't prepared to deal with something like this. If any of you have contact info for a pair of high quality gardeners, it would be much appreciated. Thank you."

A koala on the opposite nods towards him, and the two share brief eye contact.

The next to speak is a plump brown tapir with large hoop earrings. More eyes follow her than the zebra. She hefts herself onto the table, straining to lift her legs, long nose wriggling like a bloated maggot. She stalks forward, then stops at the edge of her table.

"To those of you who still wish to sell your products on Niche Zone streets, my law still stands; nobody is allowed to sell between Fourth and Fur."

Outcry ripples throughout the room—hooves and fists pound over the tables.

"You told us you would reconsider!" yells a squirrel.

"I did," the tapir says, "and found the idea of selling 'product' next to a school too risky. The potential for a deal gone wrong—for some stupid kid to wind up dead—isn't something I'm about to take responsibility for, not to mention the unwanted attention we would get if something like that happened. Do I need to remind you that one of _our own_ council members attends the school that you plan to sell your products by? Have you considered his opinions on the matter?"

The tapir directs her gaze at junior. He seems to collapse underneath the eyes of the council as they wait for him to speak. Judy tries to mentally warn him. _Come on junior. Don't do it. I know you're smarter than this—better than this._

"Um, I'd be okay if the others moved their products near my… school. The kids there are smart—they know not to get into that stuff."

The tapir is not impressed

"Eloquently put, Ronald, but are you aware of the effects trafficking has on a neighborhood?" she asks.

Ronald coughs into his paw.

"No, I'm not."

"Well, the first thing that changes, _Mr. Rockwell,_ is the influx of junkies and crackheads that flock to new selling grounds. The nooks and crannies begin fill up—fast—until there's no other place for them to hide. That's when they start to walk the streets, forced out of their holes like cockroaches. They beg on the streets for money so they can get another fix, and when they can't get enough through begging, they'll get it through violence. It may take a few months or a year, but the people who were there before will slowly recognize that their neighborhood is going to shit, and the ones rich enough will move. And can you guess who buys the house in a neighborhood like that?"

Ronald shakes his head. He is crumbling.

"Nobody, is the answer. And when nobody buys those houses, who do you think takes advantage of the new space?" she asks. Ronald stares at the floor through the table, defeated.

"Junkies. More and more begin pour in, and the supply can't keep up with demand. People get angry and desperate—violence increases.

"So tell me, _junior_ , are you going to 'be okay' when one of your classmates is found murdered, their body stuffed into a trashcan or dumpster, all for a few dollars?"

Junior shakes his head, thinking of the lioness that sits behind him in AP calculus.

"No. I suppose I wouldn't be okay with that." he mumbles.

Ronald senior clenches his paws in front of him, refusing to look at his son. The tapir takes her seat amidst the silence and awkward coughing—her destruction complete.

The meeting continues like this. Gang leaders go back and forth over taxes and territories or requesting aid in certain sectors with shipments and deals until they get to the SquidBoyz. Their leader, a scarred sea otter, stands up in his seat. He holds himself well, defiant against the hateful glares of the Rainforest District and River Complex organizations. The otter spreads his arms before beginning his speech.

"I don't ask for much—," he starts.

"Bullshit," says a panda, and the bovine two seats down from him snorts, "your tax hike is absurd!"

Some of the henchmen surrounding the table are vocal in their agreement, and the wolf raises his paws to quiet before the otter continues.

"I don't ask for much—my request is simple, but until my crew and I are acknowledged in this request, I will not lift the embargo I have on the River Complex."

The panda's face contorts with rage, and for a moment the white fur of his head is tinged red.

"But the gangs affected the most by this are from Bamboo Quarter and the Rainforest District! Your ships are our main form of transportation—the River Complex runs between both sectors. Our sectors are the two that are affected by this the most!" Spittle flies from his mouth like sparks.

The otter furrows his brow, bobbing his head as he steps onto the table.

"Surely what I ask does not strain your budget." he says.

To Judy's surprise, junior raises his voice.

"True, but what concerns me more about your tax plan is how it affects _you._ "

This time, he holds under the pressure, taking a deep breath before ripping off a piece of paper from his notepad, passing it to the leader sitting next to him. The otter growls.

"The hell do you know about any of this?"

Junior clicks his pen once before sitting up straighter, firing back at the otter.

"Not much, but I _do_ know basic math. What I'm passing around are two equations that compare the SquidBoyz total income from last year and this year with their new tax plan. I think you'll find the difference to be surprising."

The otter stomps across the table, ripping the sheet from between the hooves of a boar. He scans over the page before quickly crumpling it, tossing it over his shoulder.

"Where the fuck did you get this information?" he asks, his body shaking with livid energy. Junior folds his paws in front of him.

"I didn't 'get it' from anywhere. Like I said, it's an equation—a formula. I got it from the statistics class my school had me take for business and management when I was a freshman. Of course, I had to factor in other variables, but that wasn't much of an issue."

The otter simmers as junior explains.

"While this doesn't seem like anything that would particularly put strain on any of the larger gangs, it still makes me curious as to what you plan on doing with an extra two and a half million dollars. That's a lot of money for someone like you. Do you owe someone money, David? If that's true, I'm sure that one of the others can offer you—"

David splutters, infuriated.

"You don't have the right to call me that you little _shit._ "

Ronald senior places a paw on his son's shoulder, and David smothers his fury as the giant cat speaks.

"David, our policy in these meetings is to treat one another with respect. If you think that you cannot manage this rule, then I will have to ask you to _leave."_

David clenches his jaw tight, challenging the lion for a brave second before returning to his seat. The other leaders stare at David, ready to pounce on him, each with their own grievance or complaint with the new evidence. Purrsia watches them, fascinated by the community of criminals.

"God, they're like a soap opera." she says, and Judy stifles a laugh.

"Yeah, the meetings aren't usually this heated, but it can get a little tense sometimes. Nothing too major ever happens, though."

As the gang leaders prepare their questions for David, the doors shriek open. All eyes turn as something enters the warehouse. Gasps of disbelief and horror circulate with the newcomer's entrance, and Judy sees Victor briefly flick his gaze towards the ceiling again. _This is it,_ she thinks, _uncle John's new girlfriend._

She shambles into the warehouse, and both Judy and Purrsia catch their breath. Hundreds of pounds of muscle and fat seem to melt off her squat body. Hard, black, leathery skin pinches over her neck, hanging in small flaps that shake as she moves. Each monumental step sends her claws raking over the cement, catching on the uneven surface as her tail drags behind her. Deep in her skull, ancient eyes struggle to grasp the image before her, and instead she resorts to her forked tongue that slithers out of her face like a snake, tasting fear and anxiety. A giant, gaping grin splits her maw, revealing the mangled, fleshy insides of her mouth. Blood soaks the treacherous, jagged teeth that sit patiently in her jaws. The komodo dragon flicks her tongue again before speaking.

"Sorry I'm late," she rasps, "but I got a little hungry on the way here."


	5. Chapter 5 (Interlude)

Abar watches the machine whir, click, and rumble as he runs the fifth trial that night. He examines the rise and fall of monitors without needing to check his clipboard to see if the numbers are where they should be—it is second nature to him by now. He almost laughs, finding it absurd that the calculations the machine produces can be copied down on pen and paper, but guilt grips his throat, reminding him what he's done and who he's become as of tonight.

 _I'm a thief,_ the bear thinks, a _goddamn thief._

Sweat soaks through Abar's lab coat, drenching the bear's back in uncomfortable and necessary wetness. Stepping away from the machine, he finds one of the air vents and stands underneath its breeze, tugging at his coat to let the draft in. He shivers with pleasure, yawning in the early hours of the morning. Looking around, he can see that most of the others are exhausted as well, even the nocturnal species. They've been working for almost two days straight.

"Taking a break, Abar?" asks a clipped voice.

Abar clenches his paws. He doesn't need to turn around to know that the snide doe is behind him.

"Yes, Sheela, I _am._ It's hot as hell down here and you won't even let us carry so much as a bottle of water because it's-"

"Because it's against protocol, _Abar_. I shouldn't even need to remind you of last month's fiasco on twenty-four. Do you have any idea how much it cost for them to replace the motherboard for just a portion of that control panel?" Sheela asks, tapping her hoof against the floor.

 _No, Sheela, I don't,_ he thinks, _so how about you go ask someone who cares about control panels and motherboards? Or better yet, someone who has enough patience to deal with your insufferable personality._ _Who promoted you to floor thirty's lead scientist in the first place?_

Abar takes a deep breath, basking under the air vent a few more seconds before answering.

"I'm sorry, Sheela. I'm still trying to shed some winter weight, and the extra blubber makes it hard to stay away from the vents for too long."

Sheela crosses her arms as she stares at the sweating bear. She can the see the sluggish lag in his eyes as they shift and jerk pitifully, focusing on nothing in particular.

"Two minutes," she says, "then back to work—and if I find you still here when I make another round, I'm reporting you."

Abar thanks the doe as she walks away, tilting his head into the breeze. He looks over at 'The Column.'

The structure is colossal. Sheets of metal twenty feet tall wrap around 'the column,' blinking with lights and monitors as scientists orbit the contraption with clipboards, their assistants circling them like moons, checking each individual piece of the structure with tired precision. And that's just one of the thirty floors that it takes up. 'The Column' stretches through all thirty floors of the building, even the top two that poke out above ground. Those sections are hidden by layers of fake walls that are insulated to keep the enormous thrumming of the machine down to a dull buzz. Abar listens to the steel structure vibrate with stolen power.

Abar watches a giraffe—Miguel—call to one of the assistant scientists as he makes a slight adjustment to one of the knobs higher up. The assistant scrambles to find Sheela. Abar checks his watch—a gift from his wife for their fifth anniversary three nights ago—grinning at the species-specific pun engraved on the casing. _Bearing each other for five years!_ He remembers how he had been offended at first, the joke sailing over his head, and how his wife had flicked his nose when he asked if she really felt that way. She told him that he worked too much, which he agreed to, and they made love after dinner that night.

Abar almost doesn't hear Sheela's clopping approach, and he hurries over to the column, banishing his memories from his mind. _You'll see her and the cubs soon enough,_ he thinks, mentally chiding himself, _just get this done for tonight and you can go home and give them the attention they deserve._ For the past three months, Abar has been a ghostly presence in his house in the Meadowlands, only coming home after Maggie and the cubs were in bed. They wake up to find his breakfast dish in the sink and a note telling them that "Daddy will be done soon." Right now, Maggie thinks he's driving back from a 'science convention' in Saurotopolis, unaware of the outage because she knows he never checks his phone while he drives.

He wonders if she's awake right now, huddled in the cub's room to comfort them during the blackout. _Maybe she's still asleep_ , he thinks hopefully, _it'll all be over by morning, anyways._ Guilt oozes over his insides in thick globs.

A voice calls over the loudspeaker, the announcement ringing with hollow authority throughout the giant room.

"Effective immediately: All personnel with clearance level four and lower are to make final checks before departing the building. Please finish your checks within forty-five minutes. Thank you."

Stunned silence blankets the room in wake of the simple announcement, and the scientists look towards Sheela, waiting for her word. She soaks in the order before springing into action. She strides over the floor, eyes set and determined.

"You heard him!" she yells, "They want us done in forty-five, let's make it thirty!"

There is a flurry of controlled pandemonium as the scientists rush to make final checks.

 _Oh my god, it's happening._

For the next thirty minutes, Abar frantically checks numbers on his clipboard with 'The Column,' marking any minute changes, but they are all within the allowable range for him to give the 'ok' when the junior scientist asks for his report. Abar sheds his coat, hanging it a hook just outside one of the elevators that lines the walls where the other scientists chat excitedly. He catches bits of their conversations, but his mind is set on Maggie and the cubs. He thinks of what he'll cook them for breakfast on the ride up, smiling when the elevator jerks to a halt at the first floor.

The guard at the front desk has them depart fifteen at a time in four minute intervals, choosing who gets to go based on what district they live in. He calls out for Meadowlands, and Abar raises his paw. He walks over to Abar, handing him a slip of paper. His directions are given in quick succession.

"Take the back roads, drive five over the speed limit. If you get pulled over, tell them that you were making sure your brother was alright, and if that doesn't work, show them this." he says, pointing at the slip of paper.

Abar nods, thanking the man before making his way to his car, already forgetting about the monstrous machine that churns with power underneath 'The Spire.'

* * *

AN: If you can't already tell by this mess of a chapter, finals week is here and it's kind of kicking my ass. I rushed this out last minute and will be fixing/expanding this throughout the week. I'm sorry for the poor quality of this, but I promised myself that I would update once a week, even if it kills me (and it seems to be doing a pretty good job of that). The characters aren't as fleshed out as I would like them to be, and there isn't nearly enough description to get a good sense of a scene, and it seems to be downright confusing, so again, I'm sorry about that.


	6. Chapter 6

Those sitting closest to the door shrink away in shock and fear as the komodo dragon lugs into the warehouse. Her presence seems to suppress the room as she stalks over to an empty metal chair, raking her black claws over the frame. They scrape against the steel as she drags it to an empty spot at the table next to a koala. The chair creaks under her weight.

"What are you doing here, _lizard_?" snarls the wolf.

The komodo crosses her thick legs, staring up at the leaking ceiling. Opening a claw, she catches a drop of water, watching it explode in her palm, her eyes unflinching as it spatters over her face. She licks the specks off her maw, tongue flashing from between her teeth. The wolf leans over the table.

" _Rictus_ , what are you doing in Zootopia?"

'Rictus' turns to the wolf.

"Real shithole you got here, Allen." she says, and Allen growls. His crew shifts uneasily in the crowd of henchmen, fur raising along their necks.

Rictus chuckles—an ugly, gurgling sound.

"Calm down, _pup_. I'm only here to make an offer or two—pass on some information while I'm at it." she rasps.

"That's crap, and you know it." replies Allen.

The other bosses nod cautiously. They have little knowledge of how reptilian gangs operate, but they've heard rumors of their ruthless efficiency.

"And what if it is?" she questions.

Before Allen can reply, Ronald senior holds up a paw. He levels his gaze with the komodo dragon.

"Rictus, don't waste our time."

The komodo keeps his gaze for a beat before addressing the room.

"There's new product on the market, and it's been sweeping through Saurotopolis."

Judy and Purrsia glance at each other. Saurotopolis is a reptilian city approximately 183 miles east of Zootopia, bordering the edge of the Geckgobi desert.

The city is a monument to thermal ingenuity. Herds of solar panels soak up heat from the unrelenting sun, feeding the settlement with power to operate vents and heat lamps while the rest of the energy is divided up among the different sectors. But Saurotopolis' fame does not come from the planes of solar panels that stretch miles outside the walls—it is the massive dome that surrounds it. During its construction in 1944, it was decided that instead of insulating buildings to retain heat, they would insulate the _city_ instead. The glass covering reduces the need to spend energy on heat lamps during the day, and helps Saurotopolis keep its temperature through the night. Rictus continues.

"I won't lie," she says, and someone snorts, "it takes a lot of resources to make only a few batches, put the payoff is worth it. Demand has tripled within the first seven months of our trials in Saurotopolis."

More than a few of the bosses perk their ears. Even Ronald senior leans forward in his seat. A squirrel click his pen on the notepad in front of him, quietly preparing to take notes. Rictus smiles a bloody smile.

A storm of confusion and dread forms in Judy's head, and she has to repress the urge to thump her foot against the roof. She furiously copies down the meeting on her notepad, ears straining to grasp every word through the soaking cardboard.

 _s-topolis new drug? seven months no cases/overdoses in s-topolis why no reports? "batches"=expensive lot of "materials" reptiles make move in zoo? why now? rictus being backed or solo? find out drug side effects dangerous? find how much $ new drug go for find rictus hideout_ _why here why now?_

Rictus turns her head towards the door.

"Seth!" she yells, and a thick, green crocodile in a tank top lumbers inside.

Seth's hide glistens with rainwater, his scales reflecting in midnight shards over his powerful body. Two rotting mackerels hang from his right hand, glinting like rusted knives. Ribs peek out from beneath the scales, bits of gore clinging to the filthy bones. A metal briefcase attached by a handcuff swings in rhythm with his wide tail. The handcuff's chain clacks over the briefcase as he approaches Rictus's spot at the table, where he tosses the two mackerel down with a wet smack, their juices collecting into a foul puddle. The koala next to her flinches at the impact, unsettled by the mackerel's empty sockets that stare hopelessly at the ceiling.

Rictus lets the room take in her bodyguard. She watches in delight as the gang leaders shift uncomfortably under the large crocodile's gaze. Rictus wriggles her tongue, tasting the rancid air that permeates from his body. She admires the way his scales jut in small mountain ranges under his clothes. His entire existence is vicious and brutal. _Fucking cowards,_ she thinks, _none of you have the balls to stand up to him—he'd tear you apart._

"I assume you'd like a demonstration?" she asks.

Ronald senior and Victor lock eyes. It's against their policy for anyone to bring something that can be considered incriminating evidence to these meetings. Simple social issues are the only things discussed during the bi-weekly gatherings where mob bosses can look good in front of their henchmen if they play their cards right. Victor looks towards Rictus.

"Normally we wouldn't allow for such a bold display, but I think with our current situation it would be...safe."

Rictus pulls a small key out of her pocket, handing it to Seth. The crocodile unlocks his wrist, then opens the case, revealing rows of neatly stacked orbs the color of red wine. Seth shoves the case towards the koala, who sits statue-still waiting for Rictus's instructions. The komodo dragon's demeanor turns icy.

"Pick one and pass it," she hisses.

The koala snatches one of the glassy orbs before struggling to scoot the briefcase to the left. One by one, each of the mob bosses pick a sphere out of the briefcase and hold it up to the light. They examine the product with wary interest. They turn their attention back to Rictus when the briefcase comes back to her. She catches one of the spheres in her claws.

"We've already got slang for this in Saurotopolis," she says, twisting it in her claws, "—wine, juice, ink—but its original name is bacchus. It's a strong hallucinogenic drug that can be ingested or smeared over the fur. So far, we've only come across a few minor side effects—paranoia and increased heart rate being the main area of concern."

Ronald senior nods slowly, rolling the ball in between his fingers while junior takes down notes, estimating the weight, circumference and volume of the new drug. Ronald junior taps his paw on the table.

"On the subject of drug usage, what are the effects of an overdose?" he asks.

Rictus stares the cub down.

"Savagery."

The connection is made in an instant, and their outrage is immediate. Growls and snarls circulate as they drop the drug in front of them. Seth lets out a rumble, his throat vibrating with a baritone croak. His mouth separates, ready to clamp down at Rictus's command. Victor stands up, placing his paws on the table.

"You brought night howler to Zootopia? Are you _insane_? That drug nearly ruined this city three years ago, and now you want to sell it on our streets? Absolutely not—I won't allow it."

Rictus laughs.

"Believe me, Victor. Bacchus is a much more watered down version of night howler. It has nowhere near the potency of the first version. Anything our clients experience is simply... _amplified_ by our drug. The only cases of savagery were from smaller animals stealing larger portions—there isn't enough out on the market for species that can actually be considered extremely dangerous."

Ronald senior shakes his head.

"I think we're done here."

She purses her lips together, showing the first sign of worry.

"I assure you, it's nowhere—" she tries, but Allen cuts her off.

"I'm not listening to this. My boys and I are leaving if anyone else wants to follow."

Many of the heads in the room nod in agreement, and leaders start to file out past Rictus. She seeths as herds of criminals brush by her, emboldened by their defiant leaders. She is left in an empty, dripping room, staring at her bodyguard before getting out of her seat to gather the abandoned drugs and heading back to her car, leaving the two police officers on the roof speechless.

_

AN: I need to get back to writing more Nick and Leonard. Sorry about the missed update.

Sorry about the missed update-things have been pretty chaotic on this end. I'm packing up for my study abroad trip in France for three weeks (I leave tomorrow), so I don't know if I'll have a lot of access to wifi. I'm sorry that this story has been so stop-and-go, but summer is soon approaching, which should free up a lot of time to give this story the care that it deserves. I'm super excited to get this show on the road, but I have to wait just a _little_ bit longer before doing so. Sorry to have to do this to you guys.

And a big thank you to those of you that have stuck with me through this. I appreciate the comments and criticisms that I've received so far and look forward to more of it in the future.


	7. Chapter 7

Leonard listens as the kangaroo rat recalls her neighbor's ranting. She stands under Leonard's hat as he holds the brim a few inches off the ground, protecting her from the wind and misting rain. Her voice is drowsy, but still quivers with adrenaline, and she taps her foot against the ground in agitated intervals. She speaks into Leonard's ear as he lays on the wet cement. The coldness of the concrete seeps through his damp uniform, and he fights the urge to shudder while talking to the rodent.

"Yeah, so I come home to hear our neighbor screaming—God, I mean just _screaming—_ like he's being murdered or something. I couldn't even hear myself think, he was _that_ loud. And the banging, too. It sounded like he was throwing himself against the wall, and every few seconds something would crash or shatter. I knew the kids weren't going to be in their beds, not after something like this, so I just ran to my room where they always hide when one of them gets scared. I found them in the corner, and Kelly, my daughter, was just-she was just-, oh god, I'm sorry."

The woman's face dives into her paws as she takes a shaky breath. It takes her a few seconds to recompose herself, and she swipes away the wetness in her eyes before looking back up. Leonard gives her a sympathetic frown.

"Take all the time you need," he says, and the woman takes another deep breath, nodding thankfully. Shivering, she runs her paws over the sand-brown fur that covers her arms, gripping at the thin purple t-shirt.

"By the time I found the kids, he was out the door and down into the street. He was always a weird guy, you know? I usually saw him outside when it was dark, right before I would leave for work, and when he was he always looked kinda…lost."

Leonard raises an eyebrow. So far, the only reports he's received about the old sheep have been rumors or gossip prefaced with "I've never seen him, but…," or "I've only heard about him." It took him almost an hour to find the old sheep's neighbors, a family of kangaroo rats that applied for the newly installed between-wall housing for rodents looking for housing outside of Little Rodentia. She's the only person who's actually seen the old sheep for more than a few seconds.

"Can you give me an example, ma'am?" he asks, and she curls her tail into her paw, winding it around her like a snake while stroking the thin hairs.

"I mean, not lost as in ' _I don't remember where my room is,'_ but more ' _what planet am I on?'_ Like, if you got an Alzheimer's patient drunk or something. He stumbled around a lot, too. Sometimes he would just wander around his room all day—I would know. The kids and I couldn't sleep when he was banging around like that.

"But hey," she says, chuckling nervously, "that's what you get for between-wall housing. My name's Maggie, by the way."

Nodding, Leonard jots down the details on a notepad.

"Officer Slinser, ma'am, but my friends just call me Leonard. You said your kids were home when it started? Do you think I could talk to them?" he asks, tilting his head over to a set of steps leading to an apartment complex.

The kangaroo rat looks over at her children who sit petrified on the steps a few yards away. Two boys wearing matching gray sweatshirts flank their sister. A mouse and a porcupine—friends of Maggie's, Leonard presumes—try to keep them engaged with conversations about recent movies and action figures. They nod absently, keeping their gaze locked on their mother. The young girl clutches a tiny, stuffed cricket doll, rubbing the fuzzy antenna under her snout. Maggie sags with relief.

"Would you do that? Take them around with you while you're still here? I need to call my husband, and I don't want them to hear anything that might scare them any more than they already are. And I think it might help them to hear things are alright from someone...big, if that makes any sense." she says, her black eyes squinching in case the panther takes offense, but the big cat only nods knowingly.

"That'd be fine," he responds, then adds "and I get that."

"Thank you." she says, exhaling while holding a paw at her collarbone.

Maggie looks at the steps, and her children perk at the attention. She calls them over, and they bolt across the cement, pausing for only a second to acknowledge Leonard. She greets them as they huddle under her arms. Her voice pitches as she puts a smile on her face.

"What's up studs? How's my little princess?" she asks.

The little girl holding the cricket barely brings her voice above a whisper.

"Good," she lies, and Maggie hugs her tighter.

"Hey, how about you guys like ride with officer Slinser for a little bit while I call daddy, okay?" she says, and Maggie directs the kids towards Leonard. He grins at them, careful not to show his teeth. They look at their mother, unsure of the sudden exchange.

"But I wanna talk to dad," says one of the boys, and Maggie finds herself at a loss for words. The kids stand in shivering silence for a few, painful seconds before Leonard jumps in.

"You guys can help me solve this case if you come with me," he says, and the boys whirl around. Leonard smiles at their sudden fascination, winking at Maggie as she mouths a 'thank you.' The boys hop excitedly, but the little girl still clings to her mother and the doll. Maggie kneels down to her daughter.

"Nothing's gonna happen, Kelly, mommy promises. Mr. Slinser's a _big,_ _strong_ panther," she says, flexing her arms, "and a _very_ nice man. I'm sure he'd love to spend some time getting to know you."

Kelly turns to Leonard, watching her brothers talk shyly to the feline. She chews on the doll's antenna before hugging her mom fiercely and hopping over to the big cat. She waves to her mother as Leonard lifts her up in his paw, placing her gently on his shoulder beside her brothers.

The big cat sits on a set of steps a few yards away from Maggie, conversing with the kids as their mother talks to their father.

"So," Leonard asks, "do you guys like Rocket Rodent?"

Both of the boys wheel around on his shoulder, and he can practically feel their wide-eyed gazes.

" _You_ know Rocket Rodent?" the boy asks, and Leonard scoffs hugely, earning a few giggles from the trio.

"Uh, _yeah_ I know Rocket Rodent. She's only the coolest and bravest mouse to explore the galaxy. Did you guys see last week's episode where she battled the cheddar cheese monsters? I thought that was pretty sweet."

Leonard hides his chuckle with a cough as the boys start to fire off questions, interrogating him about each episode. He elects to give simple answers until the boys fall into a discussion between themselves. At other points, he asks how old each of them are, their middle names, and favorite colors, just to keep the topic from growing stale. Smiling, Leonard takes the time to think about the other officers at the ZPD who struggle to talk to kids, instead relying on their badges to speak for them. " _Hornsby and Furdon feel awkward because they don't know what to talk about._ _I spend, what?"_ he thinks, " _thirty minutes a week on youtube watching a few episodes of cartoons, forty when I need to check the wiki if I forget what happened the week before that. As soon as I mention one of them, they practically do the talking for me._

The boys continue to talk while Kelly hops down from his shoulder and into his paw, where she sits against the wall of his cupped fingers, clutching the doll. Leonard adds to the conversation sporadically over the next ten minutes. He looks up to find that the clouds have almost completely disappeared, and he can even see some of the constellations twinkling overhead. He finds his favorite ones and imagines the lines needed to connect them into pictures, \only pausing when he feels an invasive paw run over the claw-slit of his finger. His head snaps down as the bundle of nerves fires off, and he has to resist the reflex to clench his paw. He finds Kelly standing on her tiptoes, trying to peer over the top of his finger. Her head whips around, staring at Leonard with a mix of guilt and shameless curiosity.

"Can I see your fangs?" she asks, and the panther furrows his brow at the question. He opens his mouth to respond but finds himself choking on his own voice. He's never run into a smaller species that were interested in being close to his claws. Before he can answer, the boys on his shoulder groan.

"God, Kelly, you're so weird. You can't just ask people that," one of them chides.

"Yeah, and they're called _claws_ , dummy." says the other.

Kelly folds into the crevice between Leonard's fingers and palm.  
"I _know_ they're called claws, Barry. I just forgot, okay? You don't have to be a jerk about it."

Barry thumps his foot over Leonard's shoulder, flicking his tail against back and forth.

"Don't be an idiot, and I won't be a jerk." he retorts, and his brother laughs.

"Oooh, sick buuurn," he says, congratulating Barry with a mean high-five. Kelly's lower lip flexes and dips as she hugs the doll tighter. Her large black eyes glisten like wet marbles. Leonard interjects, refusing to let their bantering head in a direction he knows all too well. He puts an edge in his voice.

"Hey, guys, not cool. You don't need to be teaming up against your sister like that. We're all tired and a little cranky, but that's no excuse to be immature. And it's not, uh...weird...to ask if she can see my claws."

Kelly stands straighter, glaring at her brothers as they try to hide their embarrassment, only managing to respond with an awkward 'okay.' Satisfied with her sibling's shame, she runs her paw over Leonard's finger again.

"Can I see them?" she asks again, and Leonard nods.

"Be careful, okay? They're pretty sharp," he says, and Kelly nods vigorously.

Leonard takes a second to flex the muscles that hide inside his fingers. He swipes his tongue over his teeth in concentration as he drags them out slowly. The curved, white claws emerge from his black fur like timid crescent moons. Kelly cranes her neck up as the claws sprout from his fingers until they arc over her head into a sharp cage. Reaching up, she runs a paw over the top of one, tracing the curve with intense concentration, all the way down to the pointed tip that hangs over her head like a threatening stalactite.

"Cool," she says, sitting back down in the crook of his palm, content in her new discovery. Leonard lets her enjoy the sight for a few seconds before retracting his claws.

"Kelly," he says, and the little girl turns to look at him, "your mom said that you guys were all there when your neighbor started acting a little funny. Can you tell me about what you heard?"

The little girl nods, standing up in Leonard's paw, signaling for him to bring her to his ear.

"Uh-huh. He was singing a really weird song when I woke up. It was quiet, but he got louder." she says, and the boys on Leonard's shoulder chime in with "Yeah, it was, like, _really_ weird."

"Do you remember what he said? Was there anything in particular that you thought was 'really weird'?" he asks.

Kelly nods again.

"It was short, but I remember it. He kept singing it over and over," she says, and Leonard politely sets her on his shoulder before getting out his notepad. He tells Kelly that he's ready, and the little girl gently sings the lines. After jotting down the lyrics, Leonard frowns at the strange verses.

 _Hey diddle diddle,_

 _The cat and the fiddle,_

 _The cow jumped over the moon._

 _The little dog laughed,_

 _To see such a sport,_

 _And the dish ran away with the spoon._


	8. Chapter 8

Kelly shifts uncomfortably as she watches the big cat contemplate his notes. Without the sound of his voice, she finds that there's little to distract herself from the events of the past two hours. It scares her to think about her mother's face—how when she found Kelly and her brothers cowering in the corner, it bunched together into something ugly, like she was about to yell or cry or vomit. It was an awful, terrifying expression. Her chest tightens at the memory, and she shudders at the thought of her crazy neighbor. She tries to focus on Leonard. She can hear him humming through different lullabies and other cub songs to see if they share similar tempos with the one on his notepad. He tries 'The Little Grasshopper,' 'Ten Slimy Salamanders,' and 'Groundhog Peekaboo,' but none of them seem to fit. Kelly manages a smile when he tries to hum his own tune, screwing up his face when he realizes his musical incompetence. Her brothers wait on the cat's shoulder, unsure if it's appropriate to continue the conversation about their favorite Saturday morning cartoon while the officer concentrates. Instead, they occupy themselves the buttons and flaps on his uniform. Leonard shits Kelly from his paw to his free shoulder, and the boys snap to attention.

"Do you guys remember how it went—the song?" he asks, and the boys shake their heads. Kelly relaxes when he turns his gaze back to her.

"Uh-huh," she says, and repeats the tune, watching Leonard scribble stresses over the words. He thanks the young kangaroo rat, flipping the notebook closed. Deciding they've been through enough questioning, Leonard unzips one of the pouches that hangs from his belt, pulling out a roll of ZPD sticker badges. Unraveling it to the rodent-sized stickers, he holds them up to the kids, smiling as they peel off one for themselves. The text is too small for him to read, but he knows it by heart. _ZPD Junior Officer._

"Awesome," says one of the boys, and the other two kids thank Leonard.

"You guys earned it," he responds, flicking his ear comically "and I think I hear your mother calling."

They giggle, and the panther stands up off the steps, striding back towards their apartment building. The streets have emptied considerably since the incident. People seem to have lost interest in the old sheep, instead choosing to worry about their own problems. Rounding a street corner, he catches sight of the ambulance, it's whirling lights bathing the street in red. The back doors sit open, and Leonard finds the otter medic, Richard, talking with Nick off to the side while the old sheep sits up on the stretcher. The fox catches a whiff of his partner, signaling to him with a swish of his tail.

Something's wrong.

Partner communication was heavily stressed during Leonard's time at the academy. The instructors told them it was imperative that they learn how to signal each other without using words while out on patrol. They were taught a language disguised by twitching and scratching to combat the natural instincts of Zootopia's citizens. Right ear flick— _I'm uncomfortable/watch my back,_ clasping paws behind the back— _everything's good,_ shoulder scratch with two fingers— _this person is armed,_ etc. Leonard pauses to make sure he isn't mistaken. Sure enough, Nick makes two deliberate swipes over the back of his legs with his tail. _Something doesn't make sense/compare notes later._ Leonard hurries over to the steps of Maggie's apartment, dropping the kids off at the top of the stairs. Maggie thanks him before telling her kids to do the same, pushing them towards the rodent entrance of the apartment. As her kids file inside, the young mother turns to Leonard at the top of the steps.

"You're an angel, Mr. Slinser. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

Before he can respond, his radio coughs a call for officers to respond to a disturbance on Root street, ten minutes away. Leonard settles on a nod before jogging back to the squad car.

Nick revs the engine of the squad car, flicking on the lights and checking the rearview mirror to make sure the ambulance is ready to follow. The medical vehicle flashes its brights, and Nick slowly rolls the car onto the street before turning on the sirens. His mind races, thinking about the old sheep that sits in the back of the ambulance. Nothing about his encounter with the senile man makes sense, and it eats at the back of his mind as he steers the car over the winding streets towards the disturbance call. He compiles a list of evidence and possibilities as to how an old, senile man could manage to live on his own while spending almost every day cooped up inside his apartment. He remembers a case where a young snowshoe hare transferred his grandmother from an old person's home in Tundratown to an apartment in Savannah Square, hoping to get rid of her by letting her dehydrate over the course of a week. He almost got away with it, too, but an early morning trash collector caught him hauling her body out of the building. Nick runs over the details again, letting them flow freely over the forefront of his mind.

 _Old man. Senile. Living by himself. Who's paying his rent? Hasn't bathed in months— terrible living conditions. How long has he been on his own? No complaints from anyone in complex. Nobody's even seen him before? Talked about being on a farm—important? Coverup? If so, by who? Why?_

He runs the questions over and over, trying to come up with different perspectives and, hopefully, answers.

"Uh, you wanted to talk?" says Leonard, and the fox's train of thought derails. The black panther looks at him expectantly.

"Yeah, yeah. You thought there was something up with the sheep, right?" he asks, and the big cat nods.

"I mean, you spent more time with him than I did, but I got the chance to talk to his neighbors," says Leonard, and Nick's eyebrows jump.

"You found his neighbors?" he asks, and Leonard nods.

"Rodents that applied for between-wall housing. Her kids were home when he started yelling nonsense. By the way, do the words 'Hey diddle diddle' mean anything to you?" he asks, and Nick's features furrow.

"...No. Why?"

Leonard flips open his notebook to the lyrics, reading the tune aloud.

"The kids in the apartment said he was singing this before he freaked out."

Nick frowns at the new information. He could simply pass it off as the old man being crazy, but his gut tells him otherwise. He asks Leonard to copy the lyrics down for him. Leonard rips off a sheet after writing down the lines, leaning back in his seat and rubbing a paw over his eyes. The young panther is exhausted. He thinks back to a few hours ago when he was asleep and feels himself drift dangerously close to closing his eyelids. He thinks about Roy, too, smiling at the thought of his partner hogging all the sheets for himself. Nick snaps him out of his thoughts, announcing that they've arrived on site. Pulling up to the end of Root, both officers survey the street. It doesn't take them long to find the source of the call.

A plump, brown rabbit stands in the middle of the street, staring up at Zootopia's science center building, or more commonly known as 'The Spire.'

AN: So this ended up being way shorter than I intended it to be, but I have to put something down because it's almost four in the morning. I'm excited for what's next, and hopefully I can turn that into the longer chapter that you guys deserve. I wasn't particularly happy about how this one turned out for a lot of reasons, but I think I'll just have to try twice as hard with the next chapter instead of worrying about what I did wrong with this one. See you next Thursday, and thanks for reading!

Also, Leonard is by far becoming my favorite character.


	9. Chapter 9

The Scientific Center for Research and Advancement rightfully holds the title of Zootopia's ugliest structure. At two stories high and domed, it appears to hunch under the surrounding buildings like a shunned child. Steel bars painted a nauseous green thread over the glass in a sickly, metal spiderweb. Horrendously avant-garde decorations constructed to give the appearance of cracked glass spread over the dome in shattered waves, giving the appearance of a giant vegetable being peeled. Long weeds pepper the gardens around the base of the building, slapping against the steel and glass in the gentle breeze. In the center of the garden, a tacky marble statue of an egotistical and extravagant donor sits in a thoughtful pose examining an apple. Bird shit smatters over the top of the statue, running down the head in crusted, white lines.

Originally planned to be Zootopia's tallest structure at the time, 'The Spire' sits as a pitiful, broken promise at the border between the Rainforest District and the metropolis area. During its construction in 1962, the architects and engineers realized that the materials used to build the base wouldn't be able to hold the extra weight of the machinery that was to be installed on each of the eighty floors. The city budget for the structure couldn't support ordering new materials, and the engineers were forced to build down. Construction turned costly, only allowing for thirty-two floors to be built, much to the displeasure of the scientists who had been waiting for the facility. Even though the name was changed from The Spire to the Scientific Center for Research and Advancement, the running joke was that it "a'Spired" to be like the other buildings, and the name stuck.

Samantha stands in the middle of the street, shivering as the brisk wind blows through her fur. She doesn't remember what motivated her to leave the warmth of her bed, or what prompted her to walk outside in a rainstorm in the middle of the night, but that doesn't matter anymore. All she knows is that she's supposed to be here. As Samantha stares at the building in front of her, a frigid ball of pressure builds at the center of her forehead, like a cold thumb pressing against her skull from the inside out. She closes her eyes, losing herself in the sensation. For a moment, she remembers feeling the same pressure before getting out of bed, but the memory is washed away when feeling grows, pulsating underneath the surface of her skull.

Then it moves.

Journeying from her cerebral cortex to the cerebellum, Samantha grimaces in slight discomfort as the pressure wriggles like a worm through her head as if it is searching. It seems to fill up an impossible amount of space, yet still manages to move freely inside her head, burrowing through the tangled gray matter. Finally, it settles in her temporal lobe, rummaging through the synapses and nerves. It sits, content with its new position. Samantha flexes her ears as words start to spill into her mind. The voice behind them is empty and gruff, never pausing as it speaks an endless stream of words. They come as warped encouragement that echoes through the void of space.

— _startled catalyst it is time to begin your martyrdom we will lay you down sweetly in this garden of stone and glass until black hands grip and mark your heaving corpse to put under their watchful unblinking eyes while the knife serenades the flesh away from the body and cuts into mysterious and grieving bones_ —

Samantha barely acknowledges the sirens as a police cruiser and an ambulance turns the corner of the street behind her, parking only a few yards away. Instead, she focuses her attention on the ugly, domed building at the end of the block, watching the fake security guard who sits behind a desk inside pretend to be bored with his job. The light over his head flickers and the security guard glances nervously upwards.

The voice in Samantha's head ceases its rambling, dispersing like smoke, only to be replaced by a soft, feminine crooning. Delicately, the voice seeps into her brain, conquering her mind. Samantha feels herself exhale. The words are relaxing, almost like a lullaby, but certainly not one she's ever heard. She starts to hum the tune out loud.

Leonard and Nick wait for the ambulance to pull up behind them, watching the vehicle in the rearview mirror before getting out of the car. The big cat glances at the paramedics as they grab medical kits from the side compartments of the car, quickly running over their equipment. The old ram turns her head back towards the back of the ambulance where the old sheep lays in the stretcher, gazing at the ceiling. She turns to Richard, giving what looks like a sharp command, and the otter waddles into the back to check on the sheep. Leonard turns to Nick, keeping his eyes on the young paramedic walking back to the passenger seat.

"Aren't they supposed to leave him back at his apartment or a hospital or something?" he asks, but the fox isn't looking at him. Instead, Nick surveys the buildings along the street, cupping his ears with intense concentration, his head flicking back and forth between the different apartment complexes. Nick paws the tranquilizer at his side.

"Tell them to stay in the ambulance," he says, stepping towards the rabbit who stands only a hundred feet away, "and keep the engine running."

Leonard pauses, watching his partner as he begins a slow approach towards the woman, then turns towards the ambulance while holding a paw up.

Nick makes his way over to the rabbit, watching as a light breeze blows over her brown fur which is lit up in a golden light underneath an old streetlamp with a gross similarity to glazed meat. As Nick approaches, he can't help but feel the unfortunate tug of nervousness in his gut. His footsteps echo on the empty street, becoming almost deafeningly loud to him as he reaches the halfway point. He calls out to the young woman, finding it odd that she hasn't taken notice of him by now.

"Ma'am, I'm a police officer. Please respond if you can hear me."

The rabbit says nothing, continuing to look at The Spire. He eyes her over, taking in her wrinkled sweatshirt and sweatpants, as well as her strangely relaxed posture. Nick deems her non-threatening, but still feels like she should be approached cautiously, inch by inch. A bright screen catches his eye, and glancing at her paw he sees a small flip-phone, open and glaring. He walks around to face her, shining the flashlight over her body. He nearly drops it when he gets to her face.

Her pupils explode over her eyeballs in a macabre paint splatter art. Small, perfect circles of pitch black scatter over the whites of her eyes like tiny black holes, and the longer Nick stares into her eyes, the more that he feels like he's being sucked into something. Recoiling from her ruined eyes, Nick immediately signals for the ambulance to drive over. Something is obviously wrong with this woman. As the ambulance rolls over, the rabbit slowly turns her head to acknowledge Nick. She smiles at the fox, and he perks at the sudden acknowledgment. He starts to slowly ask questions, bending down awkwardly on one knee to match her height.

"Ma'am, ma'am, can you hear me? Do you understand me? I'm a police officer with the ZPD, and I'm here to make sure that you're okay. Hello, ma'am?"

She flexes her ears, eyes flicking over Nick's face before letting out a long exhale. Her voice is sweet and floaty, like she's in a dream.

"She's coming soon, you know," she says, and for the second time that night, an uneasy tug pulls at Nick's gut. He feels his claws extend and the hair on the back of his neck raise at the woman's easygoing words, and he has to force himself not to let his ears slide back. Every instinct he has tells him to run away from this woman. She turns away from him, focusing back on The Spire.

The ambulance rolls up, and the two paramedics step out with Leonard. The young otter raises a quizzical eyebrow at Nick as he walks over, and Nick points to his eye. The otter walks around to the front of the rabbit, shining a light into her pupils. Nick watches the same look of disbelief and horror play over the otter's face as he examines the woman's face. He begins to ask the woman questions, to which he gets no response. Instead, the woman begins to hum a strange tune.

" _Baa, baa, black sheep,_

 _Have you any wool?_

 _Yes sir, yes sir,_

 _Three bags full._

 _One for the master,_

 _One for the dame,_

 _One for the little boy,_

 _Who lives down the lane._ "


	10. Chapter 10

Nick checks his watch, concerned. They've been on the street for nearly fifteen minutes, and not a single soul has passed them by, or even bothered to look out their window to see what's going on. If there's one thing that he's learned about being a member of the ZPD, it's that officers tend to attract attention. A lot of attention. People are always curious to see Zootopia's finest in action whether it's a simple pull-over or a drug raid. But tonight, the streets are gutted. The asphalt is quite, absent of scraping claws and thumping footsteps and rude, honking cars. Nothing disturbs the streets except for the two vehicles and their flashing lights. He tries to take his mind off it by watching the young otter work on the rabbit.

Richard runs through a series of tests on the woman. He checks her pulse, blood pressure—anything that doesn't require a response. Nick watches the otter's face twist with concern and disgust as he shines a flashlight over the rabbit's spotted pupils. The black dots break out like pimples over the iris. Margret, his senior advisor, watches over the old sheep in the back of the ambulance while he works with the young woman. Surprisingly, he finds his mind wandering as he presses a finger over her wrist, taking her pulse again. He thinks about his sister, who, against the wishes of their parents, decided to attend college outside of the River Complex. His father hates the fact that Jess isn't going to Oxbow University, a mere fifteen minute swim away from their house. Instead, she pushed for Underbrush in Savannah Central. He remembers his father's plain refusal when he first heard Jess's decision. " _Savanah's no place for a river otter,"_ he had said, and then went outside for a smoke. Richard shakes his head at his dad's stubbornness. The rabbit begins to hum again, startling Richard out of his memories. He asks her to respond, and again she keeps up her tune. Nick looks on, his tail swishing nervously as he leans against the side of the ambulance. He tries to make conversation, asking him about his family. Richard snorts from behind the rabbit.

"That's funny. I was just thinking about my dad," he says.

"What about him?" asks Nick, and Richard grins.

"Old man's making my sister's life hell. He's not happy that she's attending college outside of the River Complex. She wants to double major in entomology and nutritional science, and Underbrush has better programs for those two than Oxbow. My dad kinda treats the other districts like they're alien planets—spent his whole life in the Complex with my mom. They're a little on the conservative side," he says, then asks, "What about you?"

Nick fastens his gaze on The Spire down the street and thinks about his mother. She had a gray streak of fur running from snout to tail the last time he saw her. And a slight cough. And favored her left leg. And the top shelf of her bookcase hadn't been dusted—something she's always kept clean. The otter shies away from the question.

"I shouldn't of asked," he mumbles, and Nick shakes his head.

"Sorry, just lost in thought," says the Nick, but he still doesn't continue.

An awkward silence is shared between the two until Richard decides to share what he's learned about the rabbit, which is almost nothing.

"Besides the rambling and the eyes, everything is in working order. I don't know if she's on any medication, so I can't rule out some freakish side effect, and she isn't showing signs that she's on hard drugs. It seems more like a mental condition than anything else.

"And what's weirder is that she refuses to move. I can bend her arms, turn her head, but as far as her legs go, it's like she _rooted_ to the cement. It's the only kind of reaction I can get from her."

The fox takes in the information, adding it to his mental bank. Pondering the rabbit, Nick's eyes catch a small light that blinks from her left paw. He reaches toward her arm to find an old-school flip phone curled in a loose fist. It doesn't take much force to pry it out of her paw, and Nick quickly flips the phone open, navigating to the messages. Richard raises a questioning eyebrow, to which challenges with an eyebrow of his own.

"I won't tell if you don't," Nick says in a half joking tone, and the otter quietly returns to his work. The rabbit's phone has only a few messages, none of which are labeled, but Nick can guess who they're from—friends and family mostly.

 _577-239-8887: Miss you lots Samantha! Haven't talked in a while :P :P. We should catch up sometime!_

 _577-543-1656: Tommy fell down the stairs AGAIN lol what an idiot right? smh._

 _413-008-0712: Call us as soon as you're done with finals! Good luck, and we love you!_

Nick moves on to missed calls, where he finds that the rabbit is surprisingly inattentive. Twenty-eight missed calls in the past week. Flicking his thumb over the circular pad, he checks through the list to find that they are all separate numbers, and decides to save it for later. Clicking the pad once more, he changes the screen to "outgoing calls." There is only one call that the woman's made in the past three week. He narrows his eyes at the number. Nick turns to the rabbit. "Ma'am, we received a call about twenty minutes ago to report a disturbance on this street. That wouldn't happen to have been you, would it?" he asks, and Richard looks up. Nick flips the screen around to show it to the otter, and he takes a step towards him, bending slightly.

 _Recent Calls_

 _911: 22 minutes ago-call duration 3:42_

Nick's line of questioning is cut short when the rabbit doubles over, clutching her stomach. Both mammals grab an arm as she collapses, gasping in pain. Both are pulled down by her weight— she is surprisingly heavy. Her humming tune is replaced by a horrible coughing fit. Richard yells for Margaret, and the old ram hobbles down from the back of the ambulance, leaving Leonard in charge of the sheep. She clops over, hurrying her pace when she sees the rabbit curled on the ground. She bleats an order for Nick to grab a stretcher out of the back. But before he can turn towards the ambulance, the rabbit grunts, pointing down the street. Margaret kneels down, holding the rabbit's arm.

"Sweetie, look at me, hey, hey, look at me. Can you tell me your name?" she asks, and the rabbit only grunts again. Words hiss out from clenched teeth, as if it takes an immense amount of effort to talk. For the first time that night, she speaks her own words. Her voice rasps tightly, as if she were trying to keep bile down.

"There—over there. _Look_."

Margaret and Richard keep their eyes on the rabbit, but Nick feels an awful weight grip his stomach, twisting and pulling at his innards—the same feeling he had when he talked with the old sheep. Anxiety oozes over his insides like tar as he looks down the street towards The Spire, hurriedly scanning over the ugly, domed structure. He doesn't understand why his chest is tightening, or why his breaths are becoming shallow. Every instinct tells him that he needs to run, hide, get in his cruiser and drive as fast as he can away from this place _._ Margaret pauses to repeat her instructions, only to be interrupted by a thunderous cracking that splits down the street. Nick watches, horrified as The Spire begins to _bloat_. The glass puffs out from the metal webbing, white lines spreading like lightning over the fragile surface as it bends and warps under strange and immense forces. It almost looks as if something is trying to force itself out of The Spire, cracking the dome like the shell of an egg. Waterfalls of glass cascade from the dome, shattering over the cement into millions of pieces. The trio of animals watch in disbelief as sections pinche together, folding and unfolding, crinkling like paper. The rabbit coughs, gasping as she draws a shaky breath.

"She's here."


	11. Chapter 11

Nick runs.

Shards of loose asphalt jam themselves between his toes and under his feet, but he pays no attention to the pain. Each step jars his body as he jogs across the cement, his breath hitching with the thudding steps. The alleyways and gutters seem to swallow up the echo of his footsteps, the shadows hoarding the sound. It feels like he is running through a silent eternity. His heart pounds in his chest, giving the night a weirdly organic beat. A cramp stabs into his side, and this time, he winces. What the hell is going on?, he thinks, his mind grabbing at explanations, Gas leak? Lab fire? Earthquake? And where the hell is everyone? Another pane of glass from 'The Spire' crashes against the cement, shattering the still night. The fox's gut curls as he reaches the back of the ambulance. Flinging the door open, he finds his partner standing next to the old sheep like a lost child, eyes wide with fear. He clamps his head between his paws like a vice, staring at the floor. The panther only notices Nick as he climbs into the vehicle. The sheep bleats quietly at the intruder.

"Nick, what's going on out there?" he asks, "Nick, what's happening?"

The fox tries to be brief. He can see panic slowly conquering his partner as the disaster outside continues.

"Science building might be collapsing—glass everywhere," he says, and he can see his words slip over the panthers' head, "Leonard, Leonard, I need you to focus. We need to see if there's anyone inside, direct them to safety. I'm going to call in a fire truck and another squad car. I need you to take a stretcher and help Richard with the rabbit, alright? Meet me back at the car once you're done."

The information hits him like a brick. Leonard leans against the stretcher, his chest heaving with sickening panic. He wants to throw up. His knees shake underneath the massive frame of his body. He's never been in any sort of situation like this, not even close. A few chases over the course of his short career, and maybe, maybe, half of a standoff. Leonard's paws tremble. His anxiety climaxes as he imagines himself pinned under a hundred tons of metal and glass. His mind latches onto a particularly bloody scene from a car crash a few months back. A wolf in some junker truck tried to run a red during the "enormous-species only" light and ended up getting T-boned by an elephant. The damage was horrific. A mess of fur and bones, the body was unrecognizable, warped by the forces of the collision.

I shouldn't be here.

A flash of guilt burns hotly against his cheeks. The chief's words echo to the forefront of his mind. The last thing people need to see is the protectors of their city cracking under pressure. He takes a deep, shaky breath, standing up fully in the back of the ambulance.

"What about the old man?" he asks, and the fox pauses in the doorway of the ambulance. The sheep shakes his head softly, ears flicking back. He sits on the bench next to the stretcher, tapping his hooves lightly on the seat. Nick pauses, watching the patient loll his head.

"Leave him," he says, then slides out the back, leaving the panther alone once again.

Leonard mutters a quick apology, for what it's worth. The sheep only blinks dumbly as the panther exits with the stretcher, closing the door behind him. Leonard dips from the vehicle, jogging down the street towards the two paramedics. The wheels rattle and squeak over the asphalt. He glances towards the building, immediately averting his gaze. Glass litters the base of 'The Spire,' reflecting the dusty, orange light of streetlamps. Empty panes leave black sections like missing teeth. A large chunk sticks straight up in the garden—a shining, jagged spire. But the most disturbing additions to the architecture are the small, bloated pimples of metal and glass that dot over the entirety of the building. Leonard isn't sure, but he thinks he can see some of them bubbling, expanding and contracting like lungs.

Reaching the two medics, he cringes at their situation. The young rabbit between them heaves in irregular breaths, her ears flat against her back. Tears matt the brown fur around her eyes in a rusty sheen. She coughs out short answers as the two animals beside her rush through various tests. The otter looks up when he hears the wheels of the stretcher. Confusion and stress etch themselves deeper into the small features of his face. The officer's presence only seems to relieve him slightly. He does not ask about the old sheep.

"We can't move her. She's too heavy," he says, and Leonard looks down at the rabbit. Even though she's only a size smaller than Richard, it shouldn't be much trouble for the otter alone. Margaret instructs the panther on the proper grip before allowing him to lift the patient. One paw hooked under her stomach, and one at the crook of her kneeling legs. She coughs, and her form trembles underneath his paws. Lifting, he finds the resistance surprising—she is incredibly dense. Both medics watch, concerned as Leonard lets out a strained grunt. It doesn't make sense. It feels like he's trying to lift a horse. The rabbit whimpers as Leonard struggles to flip her into a cradling position. Finally, after some ungraceful shifting, he manages to set her down on the rolling bed. It creaks dangerously under her weight. Leonard turns to the two medics.

"The wheels fold on this, right?" he asks, indicating the stretcher, and Richard nods as he packs up medical tools. Margaret and Richard flank both sides of the stretcher as Leonard wheels her away. The rabbit moans as she is pushed over the street, clenching her throat and stomach while they try to keep her stable. She opens her eyes, and for the first time, Leonard sees her spattered irises. They dully reflect the red lights of the ambulance. He opens his mouth to ask, but decides against it. Richard and Margaret look busy. They speak with a mix of complicated medical terms and comforting statements. It takes them five minutes to get to the back of the ambulance. Opening the back for the last time that night, Leonard slides the stretcher into the ambulance, keeping an eye on the old sheep. He doesn't seem to mind as the new patient slides in next to him.

Leonard retreats from the back, nodding at the two medics. They leave without a word, rushing to the passenger and driver side of the vehicle before starting the siren and driving away. Leonard watches as darkness slowly reclaims the alleyways and street corners as the ambulance disappears behind a building. He takes a silent breath before turning around and heading towards his cruiser.

I can do this, he thinks, jogging down the now silent street, no problem.

* * *

 **I know this story updates slow, and I'm sorry for that. Summer's been busy and I'm not a fast writer to begin with. Thank you to those who have stuck with me as I trudge along. You guys are the best.**


	12. Chapter 12

Metal groans and glass shatters, echoing through the dark and empty streets, smothering the siren of the lone police car parked outside. The two officers inside the cruiser sit in their frustration with their lack of options. Normally, a situation like this would call for three to four fire trucks, a minimum of ten police cars, and at least three ambulances cycling between here and the hospital. But tonight, they will have to make do with what they have. Nick takes inventory of the cruiser. With only a megaphone, a roll of duct tape, and a handful of flares in the trunk, he finds himself grimacing at how ill-prepared they are. He knows there's a small med kit in the glovebox, but it's old and outdated. He opened it once, a long time ago. It smelled like antiseptic and dust. Nick growls as he stares at his walkie-talkie in his paw, cursing the moose on the other end. They were supposed to radio in when the next paramedic or officer or _anybody_ was available for backup. That was fifteen minutes ago.

The fox looks at his partner, who hunches over in the passenger seat to avoid the low ceiling of the vehicle. Leonard stares out the window with blank intensity, like a soldier steeling himself before battle. Every second spent sitting here is a second that Leonard spends psyching himself out. So far, he's doing a better job at controlling his anxious ticks, but Nick still catches the occasional nervous twitch. _Keep it together kid,_ Nick thinks, glaring at the walkie-talkie, _I need you for this._ The two continue to sit, listening to metal groan and glass shatter, waiting for the black box to spit out any sort of chatter. Nick itches to get out of the car. To fling the door open and run out into the street and.. _.no._ The fox erases the thought, not out of cowardice or fear, but because heroism based on impulse always brings disaster. Running into a collapsing building with no backup would be suicide, and he can hear his wife's voice nagging at him exactly how many rules he'd be breaking by doing so. He needs a plan. Nick brings up a mental checklist of his resources, racing through possibilities and outcomes. The thoughts streamline themselves into a single, flowing idea.

— _megaphone police cruiser flares tape Leonard radios med kit building collapse how much do metal beams weigh? too much too heavy dangerous glass on the ground will it cut footpaws? tires on cruiser pop if roll on glass? start simple dumb fox how to find out if people inside? megaphone loud announcement hello if anyone's in there you need to find a desk or something can anyone hear me stay where you are good now Leonard afraid but strong panther huge big guy what can muscles do here? not much sprint inside maybe too dangerous he's not ready find a way to clear glass make path safe flares duct tape med kit flares duct tape med kit put them together? no dammit dammit come on dumb fox dumb dumb dumb—_

The passenger-side door clunks open, breaking Nick out of his thoughts. He looks over to see Leonard slide out, making his way purposefully towards the back of the car. For a fearful second, Nick thinks that he might be getting out to vomit up his nerves, but that idea is dashed away when he hears the trunk open. Unbuckling, Nick hurries to the back where he finds his partner grabbing the flares and megaphone under his arms. His eyes are intense, gazing into the gaping maw of the open trunk. The panther takes a shaky breath before turning to Nick. His mouth hangs open silently, like a child deciding whether or not to mouth off to their parents. Nick waits for him to speak, cautiously raising an eyebrow.

"We need to find out if people are in there. I'm not sitting around anymore. Fuck protocol." he says, then shuts his jaw defiantly and turns towards 'The Spire.' Nick grabs Leonard's arm before he can get past the hood of the cruiser.

"Slow down, kid," he says, "we only have protocol for the cops who are too stupid to make safe decisions on their own. If you're gonna break the rules, you need to be smart about it."

The panther pauses to acknowledge that his senior officer is allowing him to break the law. The fox grins at him, and Leonard suddenly feels belittled. A brief headline flashes across his mind. It reads; _Idiot cop rushes in to save the day—gets friend killed. He will be missed._ He shakes his head. _Focus,_ he thinks, _eat what's your the plate._ The panther looks at his partner.

"What's the plan?" he asks, and Nick stares down one of the alleyways, smiling.

"There's a roll of duct tape in the back. We'll start with that."

Nick would be lying to himself if he said he wasn't excited—his tail wags discreetly behind him. _Judy's going to kill me if I live through this,_ Nick thinks as he tests out his new "shoes." Constructed out of two layers of soggy, alleyway cardboard and duct tape, they wrap tightly around his feet, cramming his toes together uncomfortably. The tape wrapped over the top of his feet yanks at his hair, but he supposes that it's better than having glass jammed into his skin. They're ugly as sin, but then again, he never was one to have a sense of fashion. Leonard wobbles next to him, unsure of the new footing. They slide a little too much for the panther's liking. Nick tries to infect his partner with a sly smile. They look ridiculous.

But not nearly as ridiculous as their new, upgraded police cruiser. A mustache of cardboard covers the front bumper, ending at the wheels. Nick hopes that this can push some of the larger chunks of glass out of the way while they drive up to the front of the building. He has no idea if it's going to work, but it's the best thing he could come up with in ten minutes. Placing a paw on his belt, Nick asks the panther if he's ready.

"Yeah," he says, tail lashing, and heads for the passenger side door.

The cardboard mustache works better than Nick thought it would. He can still hear the tires crunching over smaller pieces of glass, but it sounds like most of the larger chunks are being shoved aside. Glass glints sharply in the headlights like a field of diamonds, reflecting the red and blue lights of the cruiser. It looks dangerously beautiful. Leonard drops another flare out the side, marking the clear path they've made by wiping away the glass. They keep the windows down in case someone yells for help. Nick feels a strange sense of tranquility for someone inching their way towards a building on the verge of collapse—monk-like almost. Nick gets a funny image of himself sitting on top of a mountain, barechested with long, wise whiskers and closed eyes. He grins at the stupid idea of being some kind of mountain guru.

Nick scans over the decrepit garden outside 'The Spire,' as they roll slowly by, shaking his head. Whoever is in charge of groundskeeping should be _arrested_ for this travesty. Brown patches cover the grass like cancerous spots, and in between the periodical shatter of glass, Nick can hear the gurgling hiss of a sprinklers stuck beneath the ground. The cruiser scoots along the cement pathway, swerving between dying flower beds. The fox doesn't need to look out the window to know what is planted—he can smell them. Most of them are more common, like roses and tulips, and he can catch the faint scent of gardenias and lilacs. The smells bring back days spent with his mother learning the fragrances of the flowers in her planter boxes. She would have him close his eyes while she held different plants under his nose. Those were the times he loved the most—spending hot summer days in a world of blind fragrances. His mom never had a ton of money when he was growing up, but when she had a little extra, she would always find a way to bring some new life into the apartment they lived in at the time. The cruiser rolls over the corner of a flower box, crushing a row of tulips, jolting Nick from the memory. He steadies the car, keeping it rolling along the cement pathway at a glacial pace. The fox shakes his head. They're close to the entrance of 'The Spire.' The statue of an eccentric donor edges by—an otter sitting in a thoughtful position with a book in his paws. Nick laughs at the bird shit leaking from the top.

"Serves him right," he says, and then glues his eyes back on the pathway.

"Manuel?" Leonard asks, pointing at the statue, "Wasn't he caught trying to bribe a weapons dealer a few years back?"

"Yep," Nick confirms, "thought he could buy his way into black market dealings. But get this, the person he tried to talk to? Black Hoof Betty."

"What? He tried to smooth talk _Black Hoof Betty_? I thought it was just some sleazy alleyway dealer." says Leonard, and Nick laughs.

"Oh no, he fucked up big time," he says, and the officers fall into silence.

They've arrived.

It's intimidating up close. Parked fifteen feet outside the entrance, the two officers are able to see the full damage of the building in gruesome detail. Steel webbing—once straight—waves like seaweed, glass crinkling as the metal wags back and forth. Almost all of the panes on the second floor have broken, leaving the top of the building bald of glass. The dark interior of the first floor is only disrupted by a small lamp that wrestles against the blackness, flickering weakly on a desk in the center of the room. There is no sign of life inside. Leonard drops another flare out the window before opening the door, stepping delicately out onto the pavement, keeping his paws hooked over the top of the car. When he finds that his cardboard shoes hold, he puts his full weight on them, flinching as glass cracks beneath his feet. Their success does little to calm his nerves. Nick gets out next, bringing the megaphone with him. He flicks his finger over the trigger, clearing his throat before speaking. The fox's voice echoes strangely as it bounces around the shattered room.

"If anybody is inside, try to find cover underneath a desk or table, or find your way to the nearest part of the building without a glass ceiling. If you are injured or need assistance, an ambulance will be on its way as soon as possible."

The two officers wait, straining their ears against the screech of twisting metal. The grating sound works against everything they try to pick up. Shifting glass, a cry for help, whimpering. But they get nothing. Shaking his head, Nick switches to his nose. While it's more reliable to find someone through scent, it's easy to lose a new one in the thousands of other smells that constantly circulate through the air. Scents are much different for species with sensitive noses. The smells are constant, day and night. It's impossible to escape them. The only way for species like foxes and wolves to catch a break is to tune it out—let it run in the background as a sort of white noise. And it's hard to turn off once it's on—like those stupid posts Nick runs into on the internet that say "U R noaw breathing/blinking manually. Have fun XD!"

He takes a deep breath, drinking the scents of the night, each of them sharp and unique. Bugaburger wrappers with decomposing cheese, tangy, wet grass, sweet honeysuckle, crass, rusting steel, Leonard. He catches an interesting whiff off his partner, and decides that it's none of his business before continuing to take deep breaths.

Nick recoils when his nose is assaulted by an acrid, vile stench. The fox's reaction is involuntary—his paws jump up to cover his snout. The smell scrapes at the inside of his nose. It reminds him of the awful days he spent in science class with his eyes leaking and nose running because of the chemical experiments. It's like someone mixed vinegar, spiced mustard and alcohol wipes before setting them both on fire before being shoved into his nose. Overwhelming and horrid, he feels as if his nostrils have been subjected to an electric shock. It _burns_. A whimper escapes from his lips, and his partner looks over to see the fox with his paws over his snout. Leonard's ears clamp down.

"Jesus, you okay? Officer Wil—Nick, what can you smell? Is someone in there?" the panther asks frantically.

Nick ducks his nose into his uniform, handing the megaphone to his partner. The smell is inescapable. It tracks him down, even through the cotton of his shirt, and it's getting worse, too. Bile, tears, sweat and something that Nick can't quite place add into the mix, adding a gross naturalness to the chemical smell. The fox's stomach curls. He opens his mouth to speak but ends up gagging. Instead, he uses his paws to signal to Leonard. Nick points at the headlights of the car, then the nearest flare that Leonard dropped behind the squad car, and makes a chucking motion with his hand. It takes Leonard a second to get the meaning, but the panther eventually runs over to the cruiser, turning on the headlights, and retrieves the burning flare, handing it to Nick. The headlights don't work as well, reflecting dully through their unclean glass cover. The flare hisses, spitting light and smoke as the fox takes it in his paw, painting his orange fur a harsh red. He chucks it overhand through one of the broken windows, and it sails like a violent comet as it arcs through the air. For a second, the little glass that remains on the side of the building glows red as well, reflecting the angry, red flare back at the two officers. It lands to the side of the desk in the center of the room. The two officers let their eyes adjust to the light. As Nick squints into the room, he finds the answer to smell he couldn't place before.

Urine.

The stench of liquid fear wafts strongly through the broken panes of 'The Spire,' and the hackles on Nick's neck rise. He can't identify the species, and it unnerves him—urine is one of the easiest ways for investigators to figure out genus and gender at a crime scene. But this is something completely alien to him. The only thing he can tell is that it's female. Someone _is_ in there, and they're either too injured to call for help, or trying to hide. Neither of the scenarios are ideal. Nick curses into his shirt. This just turned a terrible situation into an abysmal one. No ambulance, no firetruck, no backup, possible criminal or civilian of unknown species in an unstable building. The red fox tries to start thinking of a plan. How to figure out if the person inside is someone who needs to come out in cuffs or not, and how to get inside the building without risking getting sliced up by falling glass.

A small cough from inside 'The Spire' breaks his train of thought. His ears snap forward, and he holds a paw out to Leonard to grab his attention. Both fox and panther focus intently on dark interior of the building. Leonard moves to bring the megaphone up to his mouth, but Nick stops him. Glass skitters and crunches.

Something lurks.

Beyond the light of the flare, Nick barely makes out a slim, dark shape stepping through the darkness. It makes its way slowly over the floor, towards the entrance. It stops at the edge of the shadows. Nick fingers his tranquilizer. The shape paces, seeming to weigh its options. The fox listens for a frustrated growl, snort, or snarl—anything that can pin a species to the person. With the suddenness and fragility of a wine glass dropped in a quiet restaurant, a cry comes from the inside. The voice is pitiful, scared, and broken. It moans out of the darkness.

"Oh god, _help me."_

* * *

 ** _Thanks to those who have stayed with me through this! And a huge thanks to otterly delightful, who helped look through this and fix it. Check out his story "Getaway," on fanfiction!_**


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